The Light of Kirkwall
by MissPaper
Summary: What if Hawke's story wasn't a tragedy? Not all is lost in this epic retelling of Varric Tethras's :The Champion of Kirkwall. Marian's family may drive her crazy, but what a sad world it would be without them. A tale filled with romance, adventure, and no small amount of bad jokes. Prepare yourself to see the DA2 gang as never before, with a few new friends as well!
1. Prologue

**AN: Hello there everyone!**

**Goodness it has been quite some time since I have submitted any of my published works on this site. Rest assured I've not been idle; no, plenty of stories are tumbling around in this head of mine. Many I even took the time to write down, plot out, and flesh to a point. This story in particular has been incubating for almost a year now. Dragon Age has always held a very special place in my heart, and now that I am more confident in my skills as a writer, I believe I am ready to do the original story some justice (no Anders pun intended) with my own variations.**

**On that note, this story will end up sticking rather heavily to the main story line of the game, Dragon Age 2, obviously. The altercations are in the characters, and the _additions_ that I've made. Really, the newest member of the Hawke family is what makes all the difference in this little story of mine. It's made the DA universe just a little bit kinder; as there is so much death and sadness in the original story that I thought I would take the path seemingly less traveled to brighten it up a bit.**

**Anywho, with all the obligatory- I do not own Bioware© or Dragon Age, or any of the affiliated existing characters. I take credit only for the personality of Marian, the sweet and adorable Hugo, and any other OCs I might throw in from time to time- stuff that every fanfiction author has to suffer through, I bid you welcome, to my little DA2 playground :)**

**Reviews are VERY appreciated since I am largley unsure of where this story will take me. **

**And with that, I bid you adieu, and hope you enjoy the ride. **

**-Ms.P**

"_Will you shut that thing up before it brings the whole bloody horde down on us_?"

Carver took a peek over the rubble. After surveying the area and determining that the horde was not, in fact rounding the bend, he turned back to the others crammed in the tight space along with him.

"Oh yes Carver, among my many talents lies the ability to silence wailing children who happen to be in the middle of a _massacre._" Hawke hissed as she rocked the screaming babe. Her sarcasm was a very thin cover over the panic that was squeezing her heart like a tourniquet. The baby would not stop crying; not that she could blame it, what with all the darkspawn running about and the general atmosphere of despair, she was sure it did nothing for its brand new little nerves. But for the Maker's sake they were sure to be discovered if the blasted thing didn't quiet.

With his usual assumption that his elder sister had the answers to everything and her ineffability was obviously being withheld from him to make his life that much more miserable from his oh so dismal position in her shadow, Carver turned to his twin and addressed her with more of an _exasperated_ brand of bitching, "What about you Beth? I don't see you trying to help!"

That earned him a glare that might literally turn him to ice, had Bethany been in the right mood, "Of course, brother. I have _just_ the spell to mute the baby. Let me check my Grimoire while we wait for the darkspawn to come and kill us."

"Marian's smart-assery is rubbing off on you, sister dearest."

Finally Leandra shoved herself between the bickering siblings, "Will you all kindly _shove it_!"

The harsh tone coming from their usually refined and delicate mother shut the Hawke siblings up right quick. They stared at her owlishly with the exception of Marian who still desperately tried to quiet the sobbing newborn and did not have the time to be impressed by their mother's vivaciousness.

Leandra glared around at her children while Carver checked over the rocks once more. With all the lady like dignity she could muster, she calmed herself. Looking at them with steely blue eyes that barley hid her terror, "We cannot sit here any longer. If the screaming child does not draw the attention of those monsters; the horses scent surely will. What we need is a plan, a direction, a path, _something. _And Maker forgive me, I don't care what it is, just _pick_ before running is no longer an option!"

Carver made to angrily interject, presumably about how his poor feet were so tired due to all the running he'd done since Ostagar, but Bethany cut him off, "Where are we supposed to go? Lothering is gone, and the rest of Ferelden is soon to join it." The panic in her eyes was clear as she looked around her family.

They were all silent for a moment; even the baby had begun to lessen the force and volume of its cries. The quiet must have been the perfect moment for thinking because Leandra's face lit up, "We could go to Kirkwall!"

Just as she spoke, they each froze at the bone chilling screech that came from entirely too close by. Darkspawn.

Carver uttered a _very_ colorful curse that he certainly didn't learn in Lothering, and vaulted over their make shift barricade, Bethany close behind. Hawke and her mother slid down into the cramped alcove where they'd tied up their two packhorses and set about guiding them through the crevice. The rouge grimaced and put a hand on the baby's ear, to try and dull the sounds of battle from over the hill. The horses trotted along behind them, only protesting once in a while when a particularly grating screech echoed around the rock walls. Hawke's eyes darted about above them where all a darkspawn need do was look at its boots to see the trapped women and infant below. She prayed to anything that was listening that her siblings were keeping them occupied.

When the dark little fissure opened up, Hawke stayed her mother and the horses with a hand signal, handing the baby back to Leandra for a quick moment before she slipped into the sparse shadows. Her back flat against the rock wall, Hawke slid up to the very edge and glanced out to where she heard the fighting.

A look at the pillar of fire stretching into the already smoky sky behind them told her that the sounds of battle were not from her kin. As soon as her eyes rounded the corner, she saw what was making all the noise.

A group of twenty or so darkspawn surrounded two lone figures. She couldn't see clearly from where she stood who the people might be, but it was enough that they weren't oozing black sludge for her to slide out her daggers and glide into the fray practically unnoticed. Within minutes the herd had thinned out to five, their fellows downed by slit throats or well-placed cuts to sever important tendons around their vulnerable legs. Hawke leapt from her concealed place in the shadows to finish the last spawn herself, while what appeared to be a very angry and very ginger sheildmaiden promptly beat the shit out of one who'd been unlucky enough to stab her companion.

Marian wiped the slimy ichor off her blades on the dusty ground as best she could, then turned to look back at her mother- now joined by Bethany and Carver by the fissure. They looked uncertain- or Bethany did, while she held Carver back from charging right up next to Hawke. The timid bit caught Hawke off guard, but as she turned back to the couple, she soon learned why.

The shieldmaiden-practically coated in the darkspawn's blackened blood was desperately trying to rouse her writhing companion back to full consciousness. Aforementioned companion had been run through by one of the darkspawn's wickedly curved blades, despite his bulky armor.

That had the silver sword of Andraste's Templars emblazoned proudly on its chest piece.

The woman managed to get him standing, with one arm thrown over her shoulder, and approached Hawke looking rather like a very angry bull that was about to plead for help, and not enjoy one second of it.

"You," she grated out, her eyes constantly shifting to her Templar companion, "I-..Thank you. Thank you for your help." Taking a deep breath to steady herself, the woman's voice came out remarkably calm, "I am Aveline Vallen, and this is my husband, Ser Wesley." The man shakily looked up at her and made to say something of consequence, but his eyes locked on to something behind her.

"Apostate! Keep your distance!" he snarled, but his show of bravado immediately collapsed into a fit of coughing that brought blood up to spatter his lips. Aveline quieted him and apologized for his behavior, her eyes remaining steadfast and calm even in the face of her husband's imminent demise. Hawke looked at them with caution, feeling her sister's tension rolling off in waves beside her. She tore her attention away only to accept the baby back into its sling across her chest from her nervous mother. The shieldmaiden's eyes locked onto the infant instantly, and Hawke saw something harden further-a distinct urge to protect, no doubt. Hawke had felt it too, when they picked up the tiny thing.

"Call me Hawke," she said with a sarcastic twist to her lips, she motioned to the gasping Templar, "He is in bad condition. You will need more than your stubbornness to get him out of here alive." Hawke could practically _feel_ Carver objecting behind her, but she continued while rubbing a soothing hand along the baby's back, "You are welcome to travel with us, he can rest on one of our horses and the trip out of this Hell will go much quicker for you."

Aveline tore her eyes from the child and narrowed them to slits at Hawke, who could see the wheels turning behind them. She seemed to consider the offer for a moment, but the choice was quickly made for her when her beloved began a very wet coughing fit once again. Indecision warred for just a moment and then she set her jaw, nodding to Hawke. Carver helped Wesely onto their less excitable mare, Jebella, glowering at his sister all the while. He caught her arm when she came over to see their mother helped up as well, "You are making a mistake," he hissed, "they will only slow us down- We don't even _know_ them." Hawke gave him her best -_I will not be trifled with_ - look, "We didn't know the baby, either. And yet here it is- by _your_ bleeding hearted actions, I might add. In fact, wasn't it you who got on their high horse and said, '_The blight struck all of us blindly; who are we to pass by those in need_?'" She tightened the straps on her mother's horse and grinned at him as he ground his teeth, "Besides, I have to guard our less deadly companions; it'll be the Maker's blessing that your shoddy swordsmanship is augmented by another warrior."

"And another burden." Carver's mood swings baffled Hawke, but she could only smile in satisfaction as he growled and stalked back to the head of the group, grabbing Jebella's reigns to lead the party down the narrow path along the side of the cliff. Hawke hefted a sigh and glanced down at the baby- who against all odds had cried itself to sleep. Well the Maker does have a sense of humor, she supposed. Her eyes moved back up to her simmering brother; at least she only had to deal with _one_ child, now.

It was a ways down the path and several arguments about which direction they should go- which ended with Leandra smacking Carver upside his head and telling him to listen to his sister, _that_ went over well- when they heard it.

The ground began to shake, and the sky seemed to darken even further. Hawke felt every hair on the back of her neck rise, and she backed closer to the horses, gripping their reins with all her strength. And lo up the hill ahead of them came the stuff of nightmares. A massive ogre, with a battalion of darkspawn at its side, roaring in challenge as it spotted them. She heard Wesely rasp out a prayer behind them, and Leandra promptly began to sob. Hawke gritted her teeth and watched her siblings along with Aveline draw their weapons. Not that she thought running would actually work- but fighting the thing seemed damn near suicidal.

Carver of course was the first to charge the beast head on, and it might have been his end had Bethany not blinded it with a fireball to its face. He lept up with a roar and made to slice open the ogre's chest. His attack was thwarted with a swing of the monster's meaty arms, and he slid back in the dirt- barely keeping his balance but looking twice as determined as before.

Hawke had no time to sit around and watch her brother play hero, however. The excess darkspawn were pouring out of the side paths around the plateau they stood on, and heading right for the defenseless party she guarded, which was ever so conveniently backed into a corner. She held the baby close to her chest with one arm and handed Jebella's reins to her Mother with the other, "Under no circumstances are you to let these horses get away from you, _understood_?" She snapped. Leandra nodded, trying to steady herself as the enemy grew closer.

"What of the baby? You can't honestly hope to fight with it-"

Leandra should have been used to her daughter proving her wrong, by this point.

Marian Hawke whipped the bow off her back and was instantly firing arrow after deadly arrow like a machine. By the Maker's grace each bolt found a home in one of their attackers, and if it did not slay them, it slowed them down enough to be taken by a follow up shot. The arrows flowed like water into her hand and onto the bow. Even under the awkward circumstances she had to fire them in; with the now awake and wailing infant strapped to her chest- the adrenaline high somehow took down every single spawn that dared to approach them.

Meanwhile out of the corner of her eye she saw Carver bury his blade right between the eyes of the monstrosity the other three had been battling this whole time. She had no time to focus on that though, as yet another wave of darkspawn screamed towards them. Her arms burned and her supply of arrows was dangerously low, but she couldn't stop, the cries of the new born on her chest assured her of that. The three other fighters were backed up in front of her, desperately bashing enemies with a shield, cleaving heads from shoulders, and freezing them where they stood. But Hawke could see Aveline's blows weaken, getting pushed back behind her shield by the endless numbers of darkspawn. Carver's sword swung down with too little force and got stuck in a spinal column, causing him to curse and pluck the unfamiliar curved sword of the enemy from its dying grasp and try to beat them back with it to no avail. Bethany's brow poured sweat, her eyes dilated and red with weakness. Her skin paled visibly and she shook from head to toe with exertion. The poor mage barely had enough fight left in her to conjure a candle flame much less a needed fireball, so she resorted to shoving back enemies with her staff, which quickly failed as more and more stacked up against her. The horses screamed and kicked out as they were backed up against the sheer face of the cliff, having nowhere to run to and successfully bashing in a few darkspawn heads with their frantically bucking hooves.

The situation looked hopeless-that is, till the most terrifying _roar_ any of them had ever heard ripped across the plateau.

The world burst into fire. Hawke could only watch in awe as wave after wave of white hot flames poured over them. She held the baby with both arms, crouching into a ball to shield it from what she assumed would be their end. But the fire only seemed to affect the darkspawn attacking them, which screamed and flailed as their skin rapidly peeled away from the bone underneath and their very armor began to melt.

_Magefire._

That was the only thing that it could be, Hawke thought, as the flames consumed the rest of the battlefield, turning the battalion into nothing but screaming columns of fire that ran around in circles until they eventually fell into twisted, unrecognizable shapes on the ground, and moved no more.

A gargantuan shape flew overhead and their necks nearly snapped trying to follow its path. The beast skimmed over the field, picking up any left over darkspawn in its talons and dashing them against the cliffs in a wet crunching of bones. It circled up once more and dropped them into the flames with their burning brethren and let out another triumphant cry. It surveyed the chaotic battlefield once more before folding its wings in and plummeting towards the very center of the inferno.

Hawke thought it might have been Bethany who screamed-or it could have very well been all of them together- as a shockwave blasted out from the point of impact and knocked them all off their feet- even pinning the screaming horses back against the wall. The blast was so intense that every flame on the battlefield instantly flickered out, and all was silent-eerily so.

As the dust began to clear, Hawke heard her mother gasping and choking out little exclamations of pain as her horse staggered away from the rocks. One hand instinctively on the back of the still crying baby's head, she scrambled up from the dirt and moved over to her. Her mother's head had hit the wall rather hard. Hawke guided her down from the animal as easily as she could, and held her as her eyes fluttered closed. Well, Brightside; if they were going to be blown up by a scary mage-dragon, at least her mother wouldn't have to witness it from the blessed embrace of unconsciousness.

But it seemed they had bigger problems to deal with.

Out of the dust cloud, strode a _woman_.

Her white hair whipped around her in a spectral wind and power rolled off her in nearly tangible waves, some curling back to look like hair no longer- but sleek and deadly horns. If anyone could ever be described as looking like a dragon without actually being one, it would be this armored, yellow eyed and very dangerous creature. Who strode towards them without a care in the world, and a lazy smile on her painted lips.

"My, my…" Her unsettling, grating voice drawled, "What have we here?"

Those reptilian eyes settled on Hawke, and moved down to the babe in her arms. The woman _smiled._

"Wonders never cease."


	2. Arrival

**AN: This chapter was submitted at the same time as the first, so I hope you enjoy the little beginning bonus!**

Chapter 2

Marian Hawke was yanked out of her thoughts when the ship jerked to a halt, and the constant rocking motion that had been their companion for weeks, lessened to a dull tipping sensation.

The rest of her party was similarly jarred, Aveline nearly rolled to the other side of the cargo hold she'd been so lost in thought. The red head managed to catch herself on a rather conveniently placed stack of crates, and stumbled back to them quick as she could. Leandra put an arm around her shoulders though she quickly reassured that she'd just been a bit shocked, is all.

Aveline had been watched carefully for the duration of the journey. Though they hadn't discussed where their paths might lead, it was quickly assumed that the woman counted as family now, after the traumatic experience she'd gone through with her late husband. She was the stoic type, not allowing them to see her cry, though they could clearly hear the sniffs and hiccups late at night when she thought they were sleeping. During the day the shieldmaiden didn't say much- even during the rowdy conversations-quickly turned arguments- between the Hawke siblings about what to name their newest family member.

Though her interest had been peaked at one point about a week before when she heard the discussion of how the little bundle of joy had come into their lives- having assumed that Hawke who never let the thing out of her sight, was the mother.

"Me?" Hawke's expression almost made the somber woman laugh, almost.

"Maker, no! I'm always careful when I…" A _very_ disapproving look from Leandra ended that train of conversation immediately. Hawke rethought her words, "No, he isn't mine." She said simply.

"So it's a boy then? Funny, you all address him as 'it' and 'thing' more often than naught." Hawke shrugged and tickled his pudgy belly, "Well we don't yet have a name for him, as you might have gathered from our rows over the subject. There was no one around to tell us anything about him, when we found him."

Aveline looked at Hawke expectantly, and the rouge huffed, blowing a stray lock of her unruly black hair out of her eyes, though it landed back there a few moments later, "We were running, of course. All we seem to be able to do these days. But this specific running was from our cottage over to the barn, as Carver had just arrived back home all battered and bloody from Ostagar. Poor sod looked like he might fall down dead right there, but even while Bethany shoved him down for a good bout of healing he couldn't shut that big mouth of his."

"I _am_ right here, you know."

"Anyways, once we got the news about the whole impending death thing, we gathered up all the important bits and hightailed it out of there. Well, on the way to our barn which is near the back of the farmstead; there is a river. We ran right by it just in time to see this young couple get thrown out of their boat by a couple of bandits, who apparently thought they would have a better time by water than land escaping the horde.

"And when I say 'thrown out of their boat' I mean the force of the arrows burying themselves in the poor slob's heads sent them toppling into the water. Of course being the do-gooder bunch that we are, we killed the bandits outright. Bethany pulled the couple out of the water, but they'd been dead for some time; not much you can do about an arrow through your skull. Anyways…In the boat, we heard the most ungodly din being put up, could wake the dead if you catch my meaning. Carver ran right over and bundled up all snug as a bug was little blighter here-"

"Marian, we are _not_ calling him that!"

"-crying his head off as he's been known to do. And I mean, we couldn't just leave him there for the darkspawn or wolves or whatever got him first, could we? Thankfully his parents had left a good bit of baby supplies, including this sling, which has been a Maker given gift allowing me to use my arms and whatnot."

Hawke chuckled and let her story taper off into awkward silence. Aveline stared at Hawke with a seriousness that made the rouge squirm a bit; Maker, she could stare down a damn ogre but the look Aveline was giving her made her insides wriggle about.

"So what do you intend to do with him, Hawke? Give him up to the nearest orphanage?"

Hawke instinctively clutched the baby closer, "Andraste's ass, woman! Kirkwall is the last place I would choose to leave this poor thing alone in! Well, except Ferelden, I suppose. Probably Antiva too, bunch of slimy bastards- Oh or _Orlais_, like hell I am letting him get that disgusting accent. Um…sorry, got side tracked." She rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly at the twitch in Aveline's brow, "And besides he's already got his greedy little claws imbedded in our hearts, don't you, ya little blight wolf?" she nuzzled the baby and he giggled into her cheek.

"We aren't calling him _that_ either!" Leandra protested, "He is going to be nobility." She tossed Aveline something of a condescending smile, "We have an estate in the city, and my family is very prominent. My brother, Gamlen, owns it now, but I am sure he will take no issue with us moving in. The estate is very grand you see, plenty of room for all of us to have our own rooms, even. Why, I might see about hiring you on as a guard, Aveline, I am sure you would be-"

"Mother, weren't you going to go be conceited somewhere else?" Hawke hissed, giving Leandra a withering glare.

Leandra at least had the decency to look embarrassed, and somewhat hurt. She gave a small bow to Aveline with a murmured apology and quickly fled the cargo hold.

Hawke watched for a while after that, Aveline stared at the baby with such sadness in her eyes. The warrior's shoulders were tensed and her lips drawn into a thin line. The rouge looked down at the napping child, then cautiously back up at the struggling woman, "Would you…like to hold him?"

Aveline bit her lower lip and shut her eyes against the accumulated tears, one rolling down her cheek as she nodded. Hawke gently handed the baby over, moving slow so as not to wake him. Once he was in her arms, Aveline's tears came freely, her face contorted with repressed emotion. Her hand was shaking when it came up and brushed the feathery locks of brown hair away from the little boy's face, marveling at their softness. The warrior hunched over the sleeping child and her shoulders shook. Bethany and Carver stopped their bickering for a moment to stare, but soon looked respectfully away. Hawke on the other hand, knew just what to say, as she always did. She scooted closer to the silent woman and rested a hand gently on her back,

"I was thinking, Malcolm, because that was my father's name and I am uncreative, Carver likes Chadwick-which we all know is stupid and should never be spoken of again- and Bethany likes Melvin, which I can't even say properly without giggling, so…" she chuckled softly and a sputter escaped Aveline's lips that might have been a laugh.

"But so far you haven't thrown out any suggestions…I'd like to hear what you have to say." Aveline's puffy green eyes turned up to meet hers, and she nodded imperceptibly, letting the woman know that it was now her decision entirely, just like when Wesley had to die, her choice and hers alone. Though this was a matter far more intimate. Something in her expression changed, and she looked at Hawke with a hint of reverence.

"…H-Hugo…" She said looking back to the sleeping boy, her voice barely above a whisper, "Because he is…such a light, in these dark times."

Hawke grinned, and ignoring Carver's muttered, _"Well I don't see how Hugo is any better than Chadwick."_ Which was swiftly followed by an exclamation of pain when Bethany slapped his arm, "I think that name fits him perfectly."

* * *

They stepped off the boat, squinting in the sunlight. Carver let out a bear like groan, rolling his shoulders and neck, while Bethany spun around in circles, threatening to kiss the ground. Leandra's eyes were wet as she looked upon her childhood home, and she wrung her hands together in anticipation. Hawke bounced Hugo in her arms, smiling up at the somewhat morbid statues with curiosity burning in her eyes. She chanced a look over at Aveline; the last to emerge from that dark hold. The redhead shielded her eyes with one freckled hand and craned her neck to look at the towering structure before them. The gallows, Hawke heard someone say; a fitting name indeed, though she tried not to let their gloomy design dampen her spirits too much.

Aveline met her eyes, and they exchanged a quiet smile, both looking down at Hugo who sneezed and rubbed his face with his tiny fists, earning a chuckle from the two women.

"This is the start of our new lives." Aveline said quietly, looking out at the water, then to Hawke, "We must remember what we've lost. But also what there is to gain." She extended a hand to the city that lay before them.

Hawke snorted as they began to walk after Leandra, who was practically running, "How very poetic."

"I don't mean to be, I assure you." She grinned up at the sky, taking a deep breath and straightening to her full and rather alarming height. Hawke laughed and squinted up at her, "I suppose you can see the whole city from your constant vantage point, eh?" That earned her a playful glare.

Soon they were making their way through the crowd, pushing past the clumps of people, confused and unsure of where they should be going now that the boats had dumped them in this unfamiliar city. Hawke kept Hugo close to her chest, but didn't have to worry much about being buffeted as the portable bulwark with the flaming hair cleared the crowd in front of her quite efficiently. Bethany trailed behind her like a lost puppy; never having seen this many people in one place her whole life. Carver had a protective hand on her shoulder, glaring around at any who got too close.

They made it past some irritable guards at Leandra's insistence. The former Noblewoman was quite sure that their way into the city would be paved in gold and lined with flowers. But Hawke had a growing suspicion that wouldn't be the case. There were too many haggard Ferelden's crowded into corners, along walls, in stairwells. They looked emaciated and frightened, the children wailed and the mother's eyes leapt around like they were drowning and desperately needed someone to pull them to the surface. None of it sat right at all with Hawke, but she followed her marching mother nonetheless. Though she wouldn't be any kind of intelligent if her ears were not listening with red hot intensity to every bit of conversation they passed by. Soon a very _ugly_ picture of their situation began to form before her, her eyes were cold and calculating by the time they reached the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.

They broke into the sunlight again in the form of a giant courtyard. Her heart sank as what she hoped wasn't true materialized before her. Hawke's first reaction was to turn tail and run back out. This was no port; this was the tower of magi.

Templars were _everywhere_. They strolled along the battlements, stood at every corner, moved in clumps and mixed with the orange of the Kirkwall city guard. She heard Bethany's sharp gasp from behind her, and Hawke's mouth became a tight and grim line. She was suddenly very glad that the mage's staff had been reduced to splinters by the darkspawn, as it would have been a dead giveaway. Aveline's shoulders tensed ahead of her, and she fell back so Bethany was encircled by Hawke in the front, and Carver on her other side.

All the while, Leandra practically skipped ahead; oblivious to the imminent danger should Bethany make even the _tiniest_ slip in concealing her magic. Hawke wanted to grab her mother and shake her till she got her head out of her family's ass and realized that something was very _wrong_. She strode up to Leandra and placed a hand firmly on her shoulder to halt her beeline toward a group of important looking guards and Templars, "Mother…why don't you wait here with Bethany and Carver. Aveline and I will see what is going on with that stuffy looking group over there." Leandra made to protest, but Hawke basically shoved her at her youngest daughter who looked like she might burst into tears at any time. Subtlety is what they would need to make it out of these Gallows, and subtlety was Hawke's favorite pastime. She and Aveline marched ahead, the warrior curling and uncurling her hands at her side, Hawke shared her sentiment. Aveline had been surprisingly accepting of Bethany's _gift_. She vowed to keep it a secret and protect her as the mage had done during the battle with the darkspawn for her and Wesley. Though Bethany's _magery_ wasn't Hawke's biggest concern, at the moment.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, my name is Marian Amell, " Hawke said, smiling her best placating smile when the straight-backed red headed guardsman turned to raise an eyebrow at her, "I can't help but notice that the gates leading into the city are shut. In fact these aren't even Kirkwall's main docks. There must have been a mix up, because my family owns an Estate inside the city which we were on our way to visit, from _Orlais_," at the blatant turn to a lie, Aveline shot her a _what the Hell are you doing _look.

"And our ship was waylaid at a port in Ferelden, where in the most _heinous_ turn of events- all of our belongings were _stolen_ by the _wretched low born dog lords_ that populate the country!" Hawke gave her best Kirkwall accent, tinted with just a hint of Orleasian at the insults, to spice up the story. She had been paying very close attention indeed since they'd set foot off that boat, people were being herded like sheep outside the gates and even those pleading with the guards to know loved ones in the city weren't being let in. The only way to get out of this was the thing Hawke was best at. Lying through her teeth.

"Now if you would be so kind, I know this must be quite the stretch in your time and patience; but might you find it in your heart to procure for us, passage into the city on a _proper_ vessel?"

The guardsman looked at her for a moment, long and hard. He seemed about to say something before one of the angry men that had crowded behind him spoke up with an almighty fury,

"What?! You're gonna let _them_ in, they just got here! We've been here for _days_!" There were ten of them, clustered threateningly around the guardsman, each wearing the filthy fur lined leathers of Ferelden and stinking heavily of spirits and ass. The guard turned to them with a thoroughly annoyed expression.

"You Fereldens have been pouring in for weeks, all running from the blight. You bring nothing to offer our workforces, seeing as most of you are _farmers_ or uneducated peasants; Kirkwall certainly has no use for those. Such as it is, you lot look like nothing more than _highwaymen_ that somehow managed to steal enough coin to stow away on a ship with the intention of carving your way into the city while the guards lay idle." The guardsman, who Hawke was beginning to suspect had a rather high up position in the ranks, laid a hand on his sword and glared at the men as several more of his own soldiers approached, "So I will tell you the same thing we have told _everyone else_. There is simply, _no, more, room_. Now if you're lucky you will be on a ship back to Ferelden by the end of the week and you can strong arm your way into some bunkhouse to weather the blight, and never have to think of this _pointless_ encounter ever again."

The furious refugee sputtered with his mouth gaping in a rather fish like manner. It took seconds for Hawke to realize that he was not, in fact, going to back down.

Just as his hand grasped the hilt of his sword, she snapped her fingers.

Aveline, Maker bless her, realized her intention immediately. She gave Hawke a warning glare that said _"We will talk about this later when we are comfortably situated by a cozy fire at the nearest Inn."_, and then bounded over to the group of bandits before anyone else could react. She drew her fist back and still using the momentum from her rush, clocked the leader right across his jaw with such force that he was sent sprawling onto the ground.

The guards, and the bandits stared open mouthed, with the exception of the guardsman who had just finished speaking; he looked mildly entertained, and somewhat curious.

Aveline walked over swiftly to the fallen man and placed her boot on his neck, making him cough and sputter as blood poured out of his nose and mouth, "Zat ees quite enough, _saleté_." She said with a ridiculously convincing Orleasian accent. Hawke nearly forgot their story she was so busy staring at the woman in awe. Recovering quickly, the so called noblewoman put on her best horrified look.

"Oh my stars!" She rushed over to Aveline and tried to pull her off the groaning braggart, "Aveline! Stand down! You are frightening poor Hugo!" An Orleasian name, how convenient for their story. She turned her head to the guardsman while clutching the baby tightly to her chest as he began to cry, " Oh shh, shh _ma bichette." _She cooed to the little boy, thankful that their mother took it upon herself to teach them at least the basics of each language. Convinced one day their nobility would be restored and they would have a use for it._ "_You will have to excuse my chevalier; she is unused to her new station. You see, she did not want to leave Orlais, and I can tell you with the state of things since we left, the sentiment is mutual." She smoothed her hair and stroked the baby's head gently, looking up at the guard with a tired yet politely interested face that only nobles could pull, "But we are a far branch of the _Amell_ family and have come to visit our uncle in this time of turmoil, after nearly two decades in the beautiful land of Orlais. Family should stick together in dark days, _non_?" She had pulled Aveline off of the man by that point, and to her credit, the warrior still glared down at him and put on her best 'high and mighty' air.

"A chevalier? I thought they were an order quite exclusive to Orlais…" The guard said skeptically, but Hawke could see that she already had him; he didn't mention the family ties, and without knowing the particulars of the family here in Kirkwall she couldn't be sure of the state it was in- extended was the best way to go in that regard.

"Oh of course you are right," Hawke said with an easy smile, the words flowed like water off her tongue, "But you see Aveline is very close to our family, we sponsored her all the way from the beginning of her knighthood and though we suggested she stay behind- well, she just couldn't let us go into a Blight ridden world alone!"

The guard was quiet again, and through her calm exterior, Hawke's heart was beating like a hammer against an anvil- if this didn't work they could very well get thrown out of the city. He stared at her for a moment more, and then his eyes lit up as Hugo let out a high pitched giggle, reaching out for the glittering pin that held his bright orange cape onto his armor. The guard's entire demeanor softened and he stepped forward, unclasping the pin and handing it to the child,

"My apologies for all of the trial you experienced on your way home, Lady Amell. And for the state you will find it in." He grinned at Hugo, who nibbled on the pin with his toothless jaws, "I am Captain Ewald, of the Kirkwall City Guard."

Hawke's expression crumpled giving the captain her biggest and most utterly helpless blue eyed stare, "Whatever do you mean 'state we will find it in', my good Captain?"

With a hefted sigh, the Captain watched his guardsmen drag the bleeding bandit away, while escorting the rest of his crew who kept glancing back at Aveline in what could only be considered abject terror. Hugo relinquished the pin, and Ewald smiled down at him once more, a hint of sadness in his eyes as he clasped his cape back around his shoulders, "The only Amell I know left in the city would be Gamlen, who I assume is the uncle you speak of?" Hawke nodded, the concerned expression on her face becoming less of a farce as he spoke, "Well, from what I hear, he lost the Amell Estate years ago due to some ridiculous debts, and the place is abandoned, with some nasty rumors going on about _smuggling_, to boot."

Hawke's heart sank like a stone, she let the crushing disappointment show freely on her face at this point, and she held Hugo close to her chest, his little gurgling giggles starkly contrasting with the situation.

Captain Ewald looked at her with a sympathetic expression, "And you say you lost _everything_ in Ferelden?" at her nod and gathering tears he scratched the back of his head awkwardly, "And the only boats leaving for Orlais are merchant ships, which I doubt one of your station would be willing to take after what you had to go through to get here…" He held his chin, "…tell me, how exactly are you related to Gamlen Amell?"

Her heart nearly stopped beating as she looked up at him with wide eyes, had he seen through her façade?

"M-My mother…is his elder sister." She said, convinced that he would be dragging them out any moment with the rest of the trash.

He pursed his lips in thought, both Hawke and Aveline still as stone while they waited for him to continue.

"Well, if she is his elder, I would bet the Estate was left to her. But seeing as she was in Orlais at the time; he claimed it," a grin spread across his face as he saw himself being able to help the beautiful and distraught woman in front of him, even if giving her a little bit of hope was all he could do, "I bet you could petition the Viscount to reclaim it!"

The relief that flooded through Hawke nearly made her shoulders sag and knees buckle; they'd done it, they had really and actually done it. Not ten minutes later was the rest of her family collected and given an _escort_ into the city, to the nearest dockside inn; the Scalloped Broadsides. Hawke had, in the most polite of ways, told her mother to, _shut up and stay that way until the guards were gone or so help me I will throw you into the harbor_, to make sure that the illusion was real. With nothing less than bewilderment, her family followed behind a practically prancing Marian, with a stoic, and very in-to her role as a bodyguard and knight, Aveline through the crowds with a platoon of guards situated around them.

Later that evening as they sat in front of the fire, having used the last of their coin to pay for a week's stay while they tracked down their fool of an uncle, Hawke stared down at Hugo, who slept easily in her arms. His angelic little face was bathed in a halo of firelight, and she delicately stroked his ruddy cheek. When she thought back to that critical moment where the Captain would make his decision to let them into the city, she knew it was Hugo who had convinced him. Undoubtedly the Captain had seen many other infants, and heard many other stories-maybe even more convincing than hers. But the combination of the two, and the beauty of the tender little thing in her arms had tipped the scales, had let him believe her. It was all because of Hugo that they were sitting by a warm fire, with beds calling their name, and food filling their bellies.

"You are aptly named, my little firefly." She mused, gently tapping his nose.

"Well Hawke, I must say, I am impressed. Disgusted, and impressed." Came Aveline's voice from beside her, as she plopped down with two mugs of ale. Hawke smiled innocently, "I haven't the faintest-"

"Oh don't pull that on me, you silver tongued devil." Aveline frowned, "Tell me, when you started that whole ridiculous story; did you have even the _faintest_ hope that it would work?"

With a grin that could charm a miser out of his last coin, Hawke brought the tankard to her lips, "Of course, my sweet _chevalier_. Doubt never crossed my mind."

**Apologies for any butchering of names, places, and languages.**

**But Hugo is named, and so begins his rein of adorable terror!**


	3. Birthday

**AN: Hello once again, readers! **

**Oh goodness you have no clue how hard it is to choose which characters to introduce first! I picked Varric and Sebastian because they are my two favorite DA2 companions. No clue who is next though. Look's like it'll be two per chapter so send me some feedback with who you'd like to see!**

**The romance bit is still up in the air too, could go just about any way regardless of Fenris and Seb being mentioned in the summary bit.**

**So drop me a line with opinions, comments, and ideas! **

**Hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I do,**

**-Ms.P**

The firelight flickered about the room, casting looming shadows from the squat stone furniture. Tapestries hung about the walls, rich in color and design. Shelves were stacked with expensive books, artifacts, scrolls and maps. Several ornamental weapons were hung, just to give the room that extra oomph. The lamps were burning low, as it was rather late in the evening, and the din from the tavern downstairs had finally settled to a manageable background noise. A nice volume for successful introspection, at least.

A tankard of the Hanged Man's strongest ale-which, from a dwarven standpoint was little more than horse piss- sat unfinished on the edge of the table. A chair had been pulled up to the fire place, with a cushioned foot stool set before it. Over all a very comfy atmosphere, with the door securely locked to prevent any unwanted interruptions.

The room's sole occupant sat with blocky fingers interlaced in front of his nose, staring into the flames with several unfinished letters of correspondence set aside on his lap. He'd been too distracted with how eventful his day had become to really focus on them. It had all happened because of one, simple, little encounter up in Hightown early that morning. Of course with her reputation- he'd fully expected exciting. But getting dragged around the city, meeting a Prince, impersonating a professional pastry Connoisseur, chasing down carta members, and getting lost in the sewers exceeded his expectations, just a bit.

Not to mention Varric could count on his fingers the number of times a woman had gotten him undressed in under a day since making his acquaintance; this was one of them.

He rubbed his still smarting jaw and sighed, one of said gang members had gotten a pretty good hit in before Bianca put him in his place. He smirked, picking idly at the plain white tunic he'd been forced to change into earlier in the evening. It was much too big for him; made clearly for a man with a barrel chest and broad shoulders as well as considerable height. The belt at his waist was the only thing that kept it from being a dress. Humiliating, but at the time anything was better than his own trappings. He reached over for his ale with a sigh and downed a few gulps before setting it carefully back in place. At least he was freshly bathed and very much _alive_, more than he could say for some of the unluckier acquaintances he'd made that day.

It took a long bout of deep thought to figure out if it'd been worth it.

Sure he and Bartrand had gained a partner for their expedition. Sure, this partner just about made him wet his pants when she drew those daggers of hers. And yes maybe that tongue could charm the knickers off the Grand Cleric. Not to mention that she was _very_ easy on the eyes. Having a lovely little bird like her as a companion when things got a little too dark and deep road-ish for his liking would be a considerable boost to his morale, at least in the areas involving the dredging up of old dwarven artifacts for weeks on end. Also, despite his foul mood, the romantic in him couldn't ignore her new Princely companion. Varric expected he'd be seeing quite a lot of that chiseled jaw and dreamy eyes down in the caverns; such a gentleman surely wouldn't let a lady go down there alone, as he'd blatantly proven earlier on in the day.

But ending his evening with human excrement covering nearly every inch of him with a mabari chewing on his prized possession was _not_ the way that Varric liked to begin business partnerships.

It wasn't really the way he'd like to begin _anything_, an opinion he assumed every other sane in all of Thedas would share.

Except Marian Hawke, of course. But he was having doubts about her sanity.

* * *

"Please?"

"No."

"_Please?_"

"Marian, no."

"Alright but hear me out…please?"

"_NO. _And that is final!" Leandra slapped her hands flat onto the table so hard that it shook. Hawke flinched backwards, withering under her mother's stern gaze. Hugo giggled from his spot on a mound of blankets near the hearth. She leaned around the irate woman and glared at him, "Oh you think it's funny, do you?" The baby gurgled and clapped his pudgy little hands together as If to reply, '_why yes you silly grownup, I most certainly do_!'

"Enough of this! We have too much to do today for me to waste time with your nonsense." Leandra glared at her and Hawke stood straight again, "For once in your life, just do what you're told! I will need your help getting everything ready for tonight, so _do not forget_ all of the stops you have to make after delivering these to Carver and Bethany!"

The basket was shoved into Hawkes arms and she stumbled back a step. Once her balance was restored she took a peek under the blanket covering. The smell that drifted out made her eye lids flutter, then focus in on the fresh and fluffy cranberry oat biscuits. To make matters worse there were two glass jars of blackberry jam tucked in next to them, just waiting for their stoppers to be pulled. Marian's mouth watered.

"How come you never make _me_ biscuits and jam for lunch?" Hawke whined, putting on her best pout. She could see Gamlen glance up from his spot at the dining table with a look that said, _"yeah, why not, Leandra?" _Of course the little rat was too much of a coward to say it out loud so her mother's wrath was turned solely onto Hawke.

She got a swat on the head for her curiosity. It ended up that Leandra had to chase her out of the house with a, "When you get a respectable job that actually supports this family, maybe I will! Now get out of my sight you worthless lout and don't come back unless you've done everything I told you!"

Hawke skidded to a stop managing to catch herself before toppling over the stairwell, and whipped her head around at the door slamming shut behind her. She stuck out her tongue and straightened herself up, dusting off her leathers with a sour tilt to her lips.

"Can't believe she won't even consider my request-" She glanced over at the sound of a soft 'wuff' at the Mabari, recently re-named 'Melvin', "Well, not that she had much choice. I already bought you, after all."

Well, bought was a strong word. More like she'd been hired out a few days back to infiltrate a gang of bandits hiding out on the wounded coast, namely the 'Sea Devils'. After integrating herself into their ranks she poisoned the evening stew pot. Thus the thorn in the City Guard's side was taken care of before sundown. But they'd been Ferelden originally, and there were a few leftovers to take care of. Most of the hounds attacked her on sight and she was forced to put them down. But a certain one at the back of the pack had refused to take part. This hound she'd made friends with in her time convincing the bandits to trust her. A sweet one with a disposition not at all feral and violent like its litter mates. Thus when she reported back to Aveline, she had a new furry friend that was politely told to wait outside the Keep.

Of course she couldn't rightly tell her mother all that- Leandra might have a heart attack if she knew just how well acquainted with the city's underbelly Hawke actually was. And how _little_ Carver and Bethany's "respectable jobs" actually brought in to support their shabby household. Also how said shabby household had better food, blankets, clothes, and chamber pots then every one of their neighbors and probably most of Lowtown.

Hawke thought "mercenary" was too harsh of a word for what she was; she preferred "Hirable problem-solver. Thief, assassin, swindler, forger, smuggler and occasionally, babysitter." That title sounded much more diverse, and appropriate.

The streets of Lowtown were packed, as Hawke knew the newest shipment of Ferelden sweet meats had just come in. The land was recovering from a blight, and any bit of goods from the country were snapped up at the lowest prices almost immediately. She shouldered her way through the crowd with Melvin trailing close behind. She spotted a few friends among the sea of faces; Lady Elegant, for one, who stood above the rabble with crossed arms and a frown as per usual. And Lirene, self-appointed mother to all the Fereldens that happened to wash up on Kirkwall's murky shores. She was shoving her way through to the front of the crowd, no doubt looking for a bulk deal to feed those at her bunkhouse. It was a nice bunkhouse-also a shop out front called "Lirene's Ferelden Imports" which could give you some bread, or a job sweeping the streets at night, whichever you were in the mood for, really- especially now since Hawke had blackmailed a gang of bandits into helping fix the place up in return for her _not_ killing them, or worse; reporting them to Aveline.

When the audible popping sound of Hawke springing free of the crowd sounded, she immediately checked her pockets and packs to make sure everything was still safe on her person.

Just so happening to brush the hand that was in the process of lifting her coin purse.

"Hey!" She shouted- not her best intimidation line, she'd admit, but the circumstances were a bit trying, what with the thief _not_ stopping and instead running for all he was worth up the massive stair case that would lead to the towering spires of Hightown.

Hawke stamped her foot and broke into a sprint after him, "I had a bloody basket just _hanging_ on my arm! You couldn't go after that? No, you had to take my _livelihood- _little bastard!"

Melvin probably could have caught he thief by now, had he not chosen stairs as his getaway route. The warhound was just as clumsy on the raised earth as a spider on ice, and he was left struggling a few yards behind Hawke as she took them three at a time. She snarled at the weight on her arm and in a test of faith, threw the basket back to Melvin. His ears perked up and with one last bound; he jumped up to catch the projectile by the handle in his mouth. Assured Hawke would catch his prey, Melvin set about picking his way up the steps, careful not to jostle his new charge of pastries.

Meanwhile Hawke came out at the top of the stairs, her thighs burning to the point that she had to grit her teeth. Twenty four was entirely too young to be _this_ tired. No time to feel all her aches and pains though; the boy was already getting lost in the slightly more refined crowds. Hawke groaned; getting robbed was not on her list of things to do today! In fact she had entirely too _much_ to take care of to have the damned _time_ to get robbed; couldn't he have waited till tomorrow?

The thoughts were soon wiped out of her head as she simply had to focus on running. The little bugger was fast; he looked to be barely into his teens, with an unfortunately recognizable shade of red as his hair color. Very bad for an aspiring rouge.

Though as he rounded the corner that would lead to the Hightown bazaar, it looked like his budding career would be cut short; in the form of two arrows.

One buried itself in the meat of his shoulder, causing him to jerk backwards with a yelp. The other somehow slipped into the space between his collar bone and the air; grabbing onto the material of his tunic and then burrowing into the mortar between the bricks of the wall behind him, successfully pinning him there.

In his panic, the little thief dropped her coin purse, instead letting his fingers flutter around the bolt in his shoulder that was steadily gaining an outline of red.

Hawke skidded to a stop, plucking her purse off the ground, then staring at the boy with wide eyes. Oh bugger it all, with the tears beginning to run down his cheeks and the pleading way his eyes locked onto her, she found it very difficult to keep imagining all the painful things she planned on doing to him when he was apprehended. With a groan, she pocketed her purse and skittered up to him. First, she yanked the second shaft from the wall, letting him slide onto his bottom. She looked at the arrow for a moment; a light, strong wood with white fletching at the end, and a sleek steel tip. Impressive craftsmanship, that she did _not_ have the time to admire.

"While I agree you needed to be punished for stealing my things- maybe more of a community service tilt would have been better." She was rather useless when it came to wounds; always had Bethany for that. This arrow clearly came from a different bow; it was dark polished wood with red and gold fletching on the end. That's funny; how many people does it take to save one damsel? The boy gasped in pain as more blood soaked his shirt; maybe not the time for jokes.

Hawke grimaced at the hint of steel peeking out from his skin as she undid his collar to look at it. Blood was bubbling out from around the shaft and his writhing about was doing nothing to lessen its pace. Hawke tried to hold him still; she was always the one with the bits in her and Bethany taking them out, so how to do the reverse role eluded her. Hawke knew it started with taking the arrow out, so the wound could be bandaged. But the second her fingers touched the shaft the boy let out a strangled little cry that made her jerk back.

With a huff she glared at him, it was going to have to come out. Whether he liked it or not, "See. This is the Maker; laughing at you. Ha," she tugged on the arrow, "Ha," another tug, "Ha!" The damn thing _would not_ come out! Then a thought occurred to her; maybe it was barbed? Who the hell shoots someone with a _barbed_ arrow in the middle of the street? Well by now the poor wretch was sobbing and wailing with pain to the point that a small crowd was gathered around them. She tried to steady him and grudgingly apologize for the laughing Maker bit, when her two "saviors" managed to push their way to the front of the crowd, bickering all the while.

"…Not my fault-if you hadn't come around the corner in your shiny armor the sun wouldn't have gotten in my eyes."

"You've just shot a child, and you're trying to blame it on _my armor?"_

"Listen, choir boy, I had the situation under control, don't you have to go chant at someone in Lowtown?"

Hawke growled and turned around, the two figures effectively blocked from her sight by the sun, "Look, I appreciate whoever you are for the help with getting my purse back, but this boy is injured and if either of you know anything about-"

"Of course, my Lady, let me help."

And down out of the sunlight came one of the most beautiful people she'd ever seen. His hair was a deep mix of auburn and warm chestnut, slicked back from his face and shining with rich golden highlights. His drooping doe eyes were the brightest blue, and settled onto her quarry with gentle concern. The rest of him was rather mouthwatering as well; broad shoulders and lithe, coiled muscle covered in shining white armor-which she agreed, could be rather blinding in the bright light- with a beautifully carved whitewood bow strung across his back. The arrows in his quiver had pearly fletching, matching the one that she'd pulled out of the wall.

Hawke felt rather like a staring school girl as the smooth brogue rolled off the man's tongue, "There now, let's get ye up; I know of a clinic just down the road that'll have you right as rain in no time- my Lady- would you mind helping me support him?"

"Oh step off your high horse and give me an arm."

The second voice belonged to a dwarf. As Hawke rose from her crouching position, she could see him clearly now.

Was the Maker simply plucking the most attractive people out of their respective gene pools and throwing them at her, or was she just that lucky?

The dwarf stood just a head shorter than Hawke, but made up for it in width. He had square shoulders and a wide trunk with a stout and sturdy look to him. One of those "hurricane couldn't knock him down" types. He wore a brilliant red dyed tunic that opened nearly to his navel and showcased a rather impressive amount of chest hair, the same golden brown as the stuff bound away from his face. His long leather duster fit him as if he'd had it tailored –which judging by the other expensive trappings, she did not doubt- and had a strap across the front that held a gorgeous red stained cross bow laying across his back.

The dwarf stooped to sling the boy's uninjured arm across his shoulders. A look of profound irritation covered his features- such that can only result from a carefully laid plan blowing up in one's face. But nonetheless, he and the- If Hawke had to guess- Starkhaven archer hauled the urchin to his feet. The archer glanced back at Hawke and smiled, revealing two straight rows of pearly teeth, "My Lady, would you mind accompanying us?"

"Um, yes. I mean no? I mean..." She said, mentally slapping herself before continuing, "I'm Hawke." Smooth.

"Ah, I've forgotten my manners; Sebastian Vael." He chuckled and gave her another smile. She saw the dwarf tense at the name, and send a _very_ inquisitive look his way. Hawke filed that away under "suspicious things to be investigated later."

"Varric Tethras." The dwarf grunted, "_Usually_ dashing, bold, and charismatic Merchant Prince, at your service."

That elicited a giggle from the trailing rouge, which brought a hint of a smile back to the so called Merchant Prince's features, which promptly turned to a scowl when he was reminded of his current situation with the archer beside him, "If you think _I'm_ paying to have a common pickpocket bandaged up; you've got another thing coming. This'll build character, trust me."

"The Maker looks upon each of his children with a merciful eye; this boy was no doubt forced into a life of crime because no other path has been opened for him."

"Not to rain on your frilly white parade-"

"The arrow you shot him with was _barbed_, sir dwarf." Sebastian pinned him with a look that seemed to shrink Varric a few more sizes with its righteous weight, "That injury is going to result in plenty more than 'character'."

Varric grumbled something about not intending to actually wound him but said nothing otherwise till they got to the clinic. Said building was tucked between the apothecary and the tailor, a neat and square little place with flowers in the windows and a precisely painted wooden sign hanging on an iron rod over the door.

One of the nurses ushered them over to an empty cot where they laid the boy. Hawke stayed in the doorway, her arms crossed and leaning against the wall. Varric stayed near her, his eyes moving quickly around the room as if he was committing it to memory. But more often than not they landed on the polished archer speaking quietly with the attending physician. Varric stared at him like he was trying to understand an important fact that was doing a very good job eluding him. After Sebastian's hovering annoyed the nurses enough, they politely but forcefully asked all of them to leave, and check up on the boy tomorrow.

Once they stood in the bustling noon time streets once more, an awkward silence fell between them. Varric seemed lost in thought, squinting up at Sebastian, who in turn was looking at Hawke expectantly, who was staring at Varric, and so on…

The dwarf in question seemed about to speak when Hawke's joyous cry cut him off.

"_Melvin_!"

There was a shared, internal "Melvin?" between the two men. Their question was answered at the sight of a massive war hound trotting through the crowd towards the girl. She knelt next to him and took a sizable basket from between his jaws. She set it aside before tackling the dog in a bear hug. He woofed and licked her face while his nub of a tail wagged ecstatically.

"Delivering a basket of goodies to grandma, I take it?" She could hear the smirk in Varric's voice.

With a chuckle, Hawke stood up, noting how Sebastian jumped forward to assist her. She waved him off with a nervous laugh to cover her blush, "Oh, nothing so grand, I assure you. Just lunch for my-" She was cut off by the sudden realization that she was _behind_.

"Andraste's gilded panties, I have to go!" She got up to run, but found her path blocked by a stocky, dwarf sized, barricade.

"Now hold on just a minute sweet heart," Varric said smoothly, "I have actually been looking for you. It's taken me quite some time to track you down, but now that I've done it, I have a proposition-"

"I don't have time for this, you silly little man!" Hawke gasped, her eyes locking onto the apothecary's shop. It was _just_ before noon, so Bethany would still be working with Lady Melinda on filling out order sheets. Any later and they would be leaving for the gallows to replenish their herb supplies. She had to get in there, and then get out quickly to the Blacksmiths before Carver got sent away from the front desk and into the back to work on smaller repair commissions. But Varric crossed his arms, looking resolute, "Ugh! Fine, if you must speak to me so urgently, you can come with me! But you'll have to talk and run."

Varric looked like he might say something but Sebastian cut in, "We are the ones who made you late, Lady Hawke," He smiled, picking up the basket, "Might we help you in restoring the order of your errands as recompense?" He got a withering glare from the dwarf.

"Or we could just set up a meeting at another-"

"I need to go, now!" Hawke grated out, "There is a baby with a birthday and _entirely _too much to do for me to stall any longer, lest I wish to lose my buttocks to my mother!"

She set off at a very brisk walk with no further explanation, and the two marksman glanced at each other with another shared question, "buttocks?" before scrambling to follow her.

The first delivery went smoothly; Bethany looked at Hawke's companions with blatant curiosity, but the rouge simply had no time to explain, and ran off with her basket thrust back into Sebastian's arms.

On their way to the blacksmith's, which was several streets over; closer to the chantry than the Viscount's Keep, they got to know each other a little bit. Varric was working on getting an Expedition off the ground. It was planned to embark two months from now, but lacked a few key components. Such as the coin to make it happen, and maps for an entrance into the Deep Roads, where they intended on exploring. So basically everything, he'd said with bitter sarcasm. His interest in Hawke laid in her ability to get things done. She was very well known throughout some of the seedier circles his contacts informed him about, but in the better known parts of Kirkwall society as well. It was a common fact that Hawke would do just about anything for coin, and Varric wanted to know if that included a few weeks in darkspawn filled pits.

Sebastian on the other hand, asked nothing of her. He told her a little about himself; that he was a Brother of the Chantry here in Kirkwall, and that he'd trained as a Royal Archer in Starkhaven at one time, but not much more than that. Had she not been so focused on her task; Hawke's curiosity would have gotten the better of her and pressed her to pry the information from the man whether he wanted to speak of it or not. The archer mostly asked about her, and these mysterious errands of hers that they'd gotten roped into helping with.

"You said something about a child, if I recall?" He said, slightly out of breath as they jogged through an alley way.

"Yes," Hawke muttered, knowing she'd missed Carver's time slot and he would be in the back of the shop by now. The front closed to the public for the day. She took out two slim pieces of metal, approaching the back door to the smithey. Sebastian and Varric exchanged a look as she continued even while picking the lock, "My…" She took a moment, seeming to consider her words, "…son, Hugo. Today marks his birth, one year ago."

Shock rippled across both their faces, likely for different reasons. Sebastian undoubtedly knew little to nothing of Hawke's criminal tendencies, but assumed she was unmarried, which might be the greater scandal of the two in his eyes. Varric on the other hand knew from _several_ different sources how conniving the woman could be and was shocked beyond reason that she'd allow herself to become with child. Unless there was a more permanent sort of lover in the picture; which due to the rather constant stream of information that came in on her, he doubted she would have time for.

She chuckled at their silence. With a glance back at them, her hand slipped and the lock pick snapped in her fingers. She cursed, but before turning back to get another, the door was ripped open for her.

"_What_ have I _told _you, about _knocking_?"

Hawke looked up at a seething Carver- he always got extra pissy when he was hungry, so she snapped her fingers, reaching behind her without looking as she stood up, "Oh, Brother dear." She grinned, "I have just the thing to make it up to you!" Sebastian handed her the basket which the fuming man snatched out of her hands.

"Just don't forget the damn cake. And the blanket." The door was then slammed in her face, leaving her basketless and white as a sheet.

"…Cake?" Varric hazarded, "For the kid?" He wasn't sure at this point why he had such a vested interest in this woman's daily business, but part of him couldn't remember the last time running pointless errands had been so entertaining. The fact that he was able to spend a little more time getting to know a ruthless and incredibly profitable potential business partner probably didn't hurt either.

"Shit." She put a hand to her head, "I was supposed to put in an order for the cake a week ago with the baker in Lowtown. I completely forgot." She wiped her hands down her face, "I also forgot that the blanket we bought for Hugo two weeks ago needed to be picked up hours ago. The shop will be closed up by now. I've just been so damn _busy_!" The hopelessness washed over her like a wave, and Melvin nudged her hand gently with his nose and a sympathetic wine.

There was silence for a moment and then Sebastian stepped towards her, "Well there is a bakery here in Hightown that might be a bit more expensive- but has premade cakes that are quite beautiful." He tilted his head to the side, "Express orders are just a sovereign, I believe." A spark of hope lit up in Hawke's eye but she said nothing. So Varric shrugged off the wall and looked at his gloved fingers with an air of nonchalance, "Also…even if the shop is closed- and seeing as you already paid for the thing- we could get your merchandise with relative ease," he smirked over at her, "because thankfully I happen to be a very skilled lock pick- not that you weren't doing a decent job..I just would have had that door open in half the time." Hawke's face lit up, and they both looked expectantly at the Brother.

Sebastian frowned at the thought of breaking into a shop- but Varric could see the inner workings of his mind considering that she _did_ already pay for the blanket, and it _would_ be helping an _infant_. Unfortunately it looked like the priest's moral high ground would win out, so Varric hastily continued, "It is all for precious little Hugo, after all. Just one year into his sweet life; the celebration should be perfect, with a gift to remember."

Sebastian stared at the ground, brows furrowed. The internal war waged for just a few moments longer, before he looked up, squared his shoulders and put a hand on Hawke's arm, "Let's go."

* * *

"I cannot believe," _slosh_, "You set the warehouse on fire," _slosh_, "with _all_ those people," _slosh_, "still inside!"

"Yes," _slosh_, "let's just ignore the fact," _slosh_, "that they were trying," _slosh_, "to kill us!"

"Will both of you shut up!"

Hawke squinted into the darkness, but could see little down the murky tunnel. The soft whine from Melvin next to her made her frown, "Almost there, boy." she managed to turn around with the warhound tucked under her arm, "I think the exit is just ahead!"

"Thank the Maker."

"Andraste's flaming tits, it's about time."

At the moment, it was half an hour until six o' clock in the evening. It was Hawke, Melvin, Sebastian, and Varric still. They had another half an hour yet to make it to Hawke's Lowtown home before Hugo's birthday party began.

Varric had the cake, safely wrapped in several layers of parchment, in a bag, in a box, held above his head. Sebastian had the blanket, wrapped similarly, held above _his_ head. And Hawke had Melvin, doggy paddling for all he was worth, held under her arm to keep his head above water. And they were currently wading through what could only be described as a river of shit.

Literally. They were in the sewers.

The day was supposed to have gone so differently. Hawke's mouth twisted bitterly underneath the cloth she had wrapped around the lower half of her face. She was supposed to deliver the lunch-maybe have a nice conversation with her loving siblings while they were hard at work making the family _respectable_ coin. Pick up the cake- which would be ready and waiting upon her arrival. And snag the blanket- freshly imported from Ferelden, real wolf fur to remind Hugo of where he was born. And all of it went so horribly wrong that the original plan seemed like some distant dream lingering at the edges of the fade.

When they'd arrived at the bakery in Hightown, the "Powdered Scone", in order to get to the top of the ridiculously populated list of orders, Hawke had posed as an escort to Varric, the Antivan authority on all things pastry. By the time the dwarf had painstakingly bullshitted his way through an inspection of the grandest cake to the tiniest croissant it was almost three o' clock. Hawke was just thankful that the man was an even more accomplished liar than she.

To both of their surprises, Sebastian was not offended. In fact the man ended up _laughing_ half the time; but was sure to chip in a little extra for the trouble the bakers had to go through.

Of course; the blanket couldn't be so easy. When they broke into the Imports shop near the docks, it became obvious the trio wasn't the first one to do so. The place was sacked, along with the corpse of the shop attendant shoved haphazardly under the counter. Hawke was faintly reminded of a note Aveline had sent her earlier in the week about a chain of burglaries around that area and where the gang might be hiding out. Sebastian and Varric were more than willing to come along at this point, seeing that excitement followed Hawke wherever she went and getting caught up in the whirlwind that was her life. She assured them that this was just an ordinary day.

Well the warehouse turned out to be in the foundry district. And Varric just so happened to break the chain holding up one of the massive melting pots. The place went up in flames, but Hawke managed to push her dwarfy pyro out the back door before he was turned to ash along with the others inside. That's when they noticed that they were missing one do-gooder chantry rat.

Sebastian came barreling out of the flames just when Hawke threatened to go in after him like he heard her, and didn't want to be a bother. Hawke had just set in to her all mighty bitch fit about personal safety when he produced a box. Within the box they found the silky softness of the wolf pelt blanket, in perfect condition. She could have kissed the man, but due to his position in the chantry, she settled for an enthusiastic shoulder patting.

The revelry was short lived, as several of the living gang members also exited the flames, and proceeded to chase after them. Hawke, thank the Maker, knew a good hiding place doubling as a shortcut.

Which catches up to where they were now, desperately trying to climb out of the waste and onto the stone platform that led to a ladder which stretched up to a sewer grate ever so conveniently located next to Hawke's humble abode.

With fifteen minutes to spare.

"Come on Varric! Just push yourself, out!" Sebastian called down to the dwarf from his spot on the platform. The bard in turn sent up a string of colorful curses that made the archer blush crimson, and retract any further offers of assistance.

"Oh for Andraste's sake, we don't have time for this! Melvin, get him!" At Hawke's behest, the hound leaned over the side of the platform, and despite furious shouts of protest from his quarry, latched onto the crossbow on his back.

"_Get your teeth off of Bianca_!" The dwarf bellowed, "It's the duster, Hawke! The coat is heavy; just give me a sodding moment! Oh _sweet Ancestors_! Bianca baby, I'm so sorry it's come to this!"

Hawke glanced over at Varric as they waited for the door to open at her knock. The look on his face was completely neutral, still as stone.

"I can understand if you don't want to work with me after this."

"I need some time, Hawke. Just give me some time."

"You could leave, you know."

"Oh no," Varric said, icily, "I've spent my day running all over this damn city for the little stone thumper; I want to see his face when he gets his cake and present. I need to see it, Hawke. I have to."

"I don't think you're alright-"

The door opened without warning, a glowering Leandra silhouetted in the light that poured into the darkness around them, "Well it took you long en- _Sweet Bride of the Maker_!" She stumbled back when she saw the three shit piles with the spotless packages standing on her doorstep.

"What in the _bloody hell_ happened to you?" Leandra screeched, yanking the parcels out of their smelly grasps, "No. Don't tell me. Just go around back, clean yourselves up, and then come inside. Carver and Bethany should be home any minute now. You can introduce me to your companions once I can properly _see _them."

Sebastian and Varric both wore spare tunics that Carver had laying around, and scrubbed their pants and boots, waiting for them to dry with some borrowed breeches on as well. Without the oil he usually worked into his hair each morning, Sebastian's brunette locks fell in gentle waves around the sides of his face, making him look younger and more relaxed. Varric also left his hair out of its customary tie and kept pushing it out of his face and behind his ears. The two reclined in the simple but comfortable chairs near the hearth, letting their bare feet absorb the warmth.

Their sour mood- or at least Varric's- completely evaporated when they set eyes on Hugo.

Hawke came into the room, freshly scrubbed and in a simple blue cotton shift. Her hair was tied back and out of her eyes, a few unruly strands escaping from the tiny ponytail to scatter around her pale face. The men gaped at how domestic she appeared; after seeing her slicing open the throats of bandits earlier in the day- this was like a Maker sent illusion to confuse them.

On her hip, giggling and cooing as his mother smiled down at him, Hugo looked like a cherub. He too had gotten a bath for his birthday dinner, and his curly brown hair glowed in the firelight, and his blue eyes twinkled with innocence and mirth. Sebastian and Varric were instantly captivated, just like everyone else who met the babe. Hawke breezed over, smiling down at her baby, then back up at them. Out of the corner of his eye, Varric saw Sebastian's cheeks color. While he was distracted the baby was handed to the dwarf, he whipped his head back around and tried to push the lump of giggling _cute_ back to the woman,

"Hawke I'm not really good with kids-" But she would hear none of it, and Hugo was soon smiling up at Varric from his lap, making to grab for his golden earring. He was reluctant at first, staring down at the child with an uncomfortable tenseness in his shoulders. But soon the unhindered sweetness and purity in the babe's gaze pierced Varric's heart, and he was nuzzling it closer to his chest,

"Well, you're pretty cute, aren't you, angel eyes?" The baby cooed and reached his pudgy hands up to the doting dwarf. Varric grinned and bounced him a bit in his arms. Hugo made to grab for his heavy golden necklace, his little fingers slipping along the cool metal and making him giggle in surprise. Varric just about melted.

A polite clearing of the throat caught his attention, and he glanced over at the Chantry Brother, who was looking over his shoulder intently, "Sir dwarf, I think they are beginning."

The cake was brought out, and set gently on the table. Hawke and her siblings stood to one side, her mother and uncle on the other. Sebastian and Varric walked up to the candle pierced pastry, smiling as the lone flame was lit.

"Make a wish." Varric murmured to the baby, who was staring at the flame with wide eyes and trying to reach for it- though the dwarf kept him safely away. They waited a moment, and then Hawke leaned forward to blow the candle out for Hugo.

"May the Maker and his Bride bless this child and allow nothing but fortune to rise up as his future." Sebastian said quietly, hands clasped in front of him. Leandra said a small, "Amen." Under her breath, tears prickling around her eyes. The graying woman stepped forward and knelt in front of the baby, holding out the wolf pelt blanket to him, "Happy Birthday, Hugo Malcolm Hawke."

**I know the whole "mama Hawke" thing is kinda weird, seeing as Marian isn't what you would call responsible, or dependable, or nurturing, or...well anything a mother should be. But she didn't want the baby to grow up without a mother, and couldn't ask Bethany to do it. So despite her not being around all that much, she _still_ takes credit for Hugo. **


	4. Summerday

**AN: Sorry about how long this took to update! I've been trying to figure out what direction I'd like this story to take, and after several rewrites, stuck with this one. **

**As you can see, Sebastian has become more of a prominent character, and I have made his backstory _very_ non-canon. Hope that doesn't offend anyone, but I get tired of reading the pious priest tempted to break his vows over and _over_. So this is what your'e getting.**

**Anyway, the chapters will be a bit shorter from here on out, hopefully to encourage more frequent updates. As of yet I really don't know how long I plan on making this thing, and while Sebastian seems to be the obvious romance choice; that isn't set in stone either. The deep roads will have the story take a darker turn, though I'll do my best to keep it from getting _too_ angsty and depressing. That's not what this story is about, after all.**

**Hope you enjoy the chapter, lemme know what you think!**

**-Ms.P**

"Are you still among us, Marian?" Sebastian's brows furrowed in mock concern as Hawke twirled around in front of the mirror. Her eyes moved all around her figure. She was hardly recognizable. Too fascinated by the pale expanses of her skin so usually covered by leather and dirt, Hawke didn't even hear his question.

The dress was a simple design, and made of pure white cotton, hugging close to her chest then billowing down lazily to her ankles to brush against the floor. Hawke was entranced by it; feeling as if it made her a completely different person than the dirt poor wretch who'd clung to Sebastian's arm when he led her though the door of the Hightown Boutique.

It brought her back to a different time. One where she held the hand of the neighboring farm boy and walked among the lanterns and bonfires of the Lothering Summerday celebration. Laughter and music filled the air, the warm brown eyes of her father were on her, and Garret's rumbling voice could be heard just ahead, their smiles filling her with warmth.

The Chantry Brother cleared his throat, and her blue eyes met his in the reflection. She turned to face him, giving him a slanted smile, "You must allow me to indulge in a few moments of awe," She turned back to look at herself once more, "I haven't worn a proper dress in some time."

Sebastian chuckled and crossed his arms, "Too busy bashing heads?"

She hummed in agreement, distracted by the flowing yards of material, "Yes, I suppose so." Then heard the telltale clink of gold on the counter behind them, and the visions of green hills filled with dancing figures were wiped from her head, "Unfortunately," Hawke turned back to him with a tight smile, "bashing heads doesn't bring in that much coin. Well, not enough that I can separate it from," counting off on her fingers, she sighed, "Expedition funds, food, armor and weapon repairs, protection money, and the occasional drunken splurge at the hanged man."

The archer shrugged off the wall, adjusting his pristine armor without looking at her, "Well, this one is on me." His eyes came up to meet her shocked ones and he held up a hand for his continuance, "Hawke, I've been working with you for nearly two months now. Some of your decisions are questionable, but always the answer is found in the good that lies in your heart." His hands took hers and she gaped at him like he'd grown a second head, "You've worked hard to gather the man power, and the coin for this venture, you deserve something nice for yourself." He drew himself up, painting a quite regal picture, "Thus, I would like to buy you this dress, so that you might accompany me to the Summerday Festival being held here in the Hightown Market place, in three days' time."

The uncertainty that'd been swirling around in Hawke's eyes went out like a flame, replaced with her usual snark, "Ah, it all makes sense now." She smirked and turned away from him, pushing her breasts together and striking a pose, "Goodness, if I'd known you were trying to buy a date to the festival-which I'm assuming you are obligated to attend, for one reason or another- I would have picked a _much_ more risqué gown! How much of a stipend does the Chantry provide you, I wonder? No-don't tell me, I'll only learn of it when you are forced into weeks of back room clothing repair for the outrageous sum you'll have to spend on my-"

"Marian." Sebastian caught her shoulders. Hawke had to give it to him; the man had a saintly amount of patience. The downside of that was how easily he saw through her.

"If you don't feel comfortable with this, I won't buy the dress. I just know that things have been hard for you, recently. Though you do your best to hide it under all your sass," He smirked, but his eyes were serious, "I only wanted to offer you a chance to relax for a night. And _maybe_ save me from being alone with the Knight Commander and her Captains, as I am supposed to attend them by the Grand Cleric's wishes."

They held each other's gaze for a moment. Hawke's eyes narrow, Sebastian's calm-though with an undertone of quiet insistence.

"Ah-fine. You've convinced me!" She spun away from him, "But only if I am allowed to drink as much as I deem necessary to suffer through all the pomp and circumstance!"

"I heard something about drinking!" Isabela came waltzing around the corner, a rather ridiculous hat perched atop her head. It was made of bright green felt, with far too much brim and feathers to be considered anywhere near in fashion.

Hawke snorted, "Where in the world did you find _that_ thing, Izzy?"

The pirate winked at her, tilting the hat forward, "The boy at the counter isn't too tight lipped about where they keep last season's less-than-popular pieces," she ran her fingers through the outrageous plumage, " though I can't imagine why this one didn't sell out in a heartbeat; it's divine!"

They burst into fits of laughter, Sebastian sighing with his eyes to the ceiling to pray for patience. The two women soon occupied themselves with getting Hawke out of her chosen gown behind the changing curtain. While they were away, Sebastian moved to the front door of the Boutique. A man in rags instantly approached him, giving the slightest of bows.

"Sire?"

"Sean, I'd like you to go to the counter and pay for Lady Hawke's gown. Make sure the tailor stays quiet about it- the less of Marian's attention he draws, the better."

The man nodded, stepping around Sebastian to head for the tailor.

A moment later the two giggling women stumbled out from behind the curtain, with the atrocious green hat now sitting proudly atop Hawke's head. She strode over to Sebastian and looped an arm through his, "Shall we go, my dashing Priest in shining armor?" He swallowed at her choice of words, but let her drag him from the shop regardless. Thankfully, Isabela dropped the ghastly hat onto a nearby plant, on their way out.

Melvin met them once they were out the door and loyally fell into step behind his master. Isabela pranced ahead of them, wide eyed at all the Summerday decorations already adorning the Marketplace.

Elven servants were all around on ladders hanging paper lanterns from ropes strung earlier in the day. Banners were strung on every arch, flyers handed out to every passerby, and one could smell the bakeries and butchers preparing for miles around. The air was thick with festivity, even while it was still several days away. Hawke loved it.

They came out into the Chantry court yard and saw that it too was being prepared for the oncoming holiday. Tranquil were moving here and there, assisted by Chanters and Templars to hang flowered wreaths and garland. A few mages were even present, working on the floating glass lanterns that always lit up the courtyard so beautifully each year.

Sebastian smiled at each of the factions coming together like this; for once the mages weren't bitterly contained, but actually able to contribute to the city. Templars weren't stoically watching for any sign of corruption, but instead holding ladders steady, pounding nails, and even directing the placement of the decorations. It was a beautiful sight. To think that this might be the last time he could see it, was a sad thought indeed. He'd told himself over and over that he was ready for the deep roads, but when it came down to it, there was no way he could be. The threat of darkspawn was enough to make him quake in his boots, much less all the other dangers that lurked beneath the earth. His parents had gone through so much strife to make his banishment look real, the pain of separating themselves from their son to ensure the safety of their bloodline, and the future of Starkhaven. And he was about to potentially throw all that away for the sake of a few old relics.

But as he looked over at Hawke, the radiant smile on her face and the life that burned in her eyes, he knew there was no way he could let her go down there without him.

Soon Fenris's mansion came into view, though they heard the bickering from quite a distance beforehand.

Merrill stood out front with Fenris, Anders and Varric. She was in a simple green shift, with brown leather leggings peeking out of its slit sides. She'd been wearing flowers and berries in her braided hair for days now; todays were a sprinkle of ripened holly berries and delicate little jasmine buds.

Fenris was struggling all by his lonesome with a massive wreath that Merril must have been working on for days; it was about twice the size of the white haired elf. It wobbled dangerously in his grip, but he kept it steady in an impressive feat of strength.

"Will you…_please_…just make a decision?" He grunted as the wreath swayed ominously.

"I'm telling you, Daisy, it should be over the window." Varric said, a gloved hand on his chin. A smile curved his features, and Hawke could tell he'd been enjoying watching Fenris struggle.

"But it would look so much better over the door!" Merrill whined, clasping her hands together. She looked at Varric with those big green eyes of hers, all pleading and innocence, "Traditionally it should be over the door, and we already had him drive the nail in up there."

"I think we should have him put one over the window too; _just_ to make sure." Anders said from behind them, an appraising hand held out as if to angle the wreath.

"_Enough_!" Fenris snarled, hefting the wreath over his head. He stomped over to the front door and flung the thing onto a large spike, which could hardly be called a nail, sticking out above the frame. Hawke didn't even want to know how much force it took to wedge the thing between the bricks of the house. Though judging by the sweat stains on Fenris's shirt; she'd guess it would be _a lot._

She put a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. The elf wore an open white tunic, tucked into black breeches, with of course, no shoes on. Honestly Hawke thought this was the only outfit he _owned_ besides his armor. But he did cut a striking figure in it, that was for sure. Hawke glanced over to see Isabela similarly enjoying the sight, and elbowed her.

The Pirate tossed Hawke a mischievous smile before walking over to the panting man, a swagger in her hips, "Oh, Fenris…" she purred, a hand trailing over his shoulders, "You look _so_ tired-"

The elf nearly leapt away from her, his face coloring and his arms splayed out like he was being attacked. Hawke burst into a fit of laughter, unable to contain herself any longer. Soon the elf realized he was being had, and his face crumpled into its usual mask of disdain.

"If I'm to spend weeks in darkspawn filled tunnels with you lot, the least you could do was give me some peace while I can still see the sun."

"Just think of it like a big sleepover!" Hawke chimed, skipping over and making to throw an arm around his shoulders, only to have him duck under it, "All of us crammed in tents in rock tunnels that could collapse at any moment, eating stale bread and moldy cheese, for _weeks_!" That only made his face curl in on itself further. Hawke cackled.

"What has this past week been, then?" The elf growled, stomping back into the house to fetch the garland. Anders followed in behind him, ranting about the placement of the wreath- Hawke thanked the Maker that was _all_ that the revolutionary ranted about today.

"Hawke, a word?" Varric motioned for her to follow as he began to stroll away from the group. She nodded and followed after him, leaving the others to begin arguing about where the garland should be hung. She directed Melvin to stay behind and assist in whatever way he could, which seemed to be acting as a chair for Merrill, at the moment.

"You've done what I asked from last time we spoke, yes?" The dwarf began, folding his arms behind his back.

With a sigh, Hawke crossed her arms over her chest, she knew this was coming.

"Yes, and like I predicted, it blew up in my face."

"You didn't lie?" Varric's features colored with surprise.

"No, I didn't lie." Hawke spat, "I figured for once I'd go against my gut and tell my family the truth. But the moment I mentioned my being gone for a month or so- my mother lost it." Hawke grimaced at the memory, "the woman was inconsolable, yelled at me for hours. Told me I was a terrible mother, always leaving with no explanation for where I'm going. Coming back at all hours of the night covered in mud or blood. She told me I was never there for Hugo, and I shouldn't have taken on the responsibility of a child if I intended on being nothing more than a placeholder."

The last two months were just as Leandra accused her. Hawke couldn't even fight back against the woman in that regard. She'd been so focused on getting the Expedition on its feet; she took any job that was offered, accepted any help that was given, and somehow made some friends along the way. Unfortunately, the more people she met, and the more jobs she took made the nights that her bed lay unoccupied pile up.

She was lucky to stumble in half dead, or drunk and have Bethany quietly patch her up enough to be gone in the morning. Poor Beth never asked any questions, likely because she knew Hawke would never answer them. All she could do was keep her sister alive, and hope that the truth was less gruesome than she supposed it to be.

Leandra was right, she barely saw Hugo anymore, which cut Hawke to the core. The best mother; she was not. But she did love the little tyke- even in his absence from her arms did she grow more and more used to calling him her son. It was an odd thing to talk about with others, as he'd been kept a careful secret that first year that they could barely buy bread. Now that she was out in society, actually making connections, she used his name freely, talked about him like he was there, even though it could be days at a time before she'd see him again.

When Hawke told her family that all this time she'd been collecting coin to invest in an Expedition, the first question Carver- of course _Carver_, always trying to make her look bad- asked was _how_ she was doing it. What kind of a job did she have that kept her away for days, and sent her back in pieces?

The git already knew the answer, as she'd passed him in Hightown plenty of times with her crew; and he no doubt knew plenty of the miners from the Bone pit that couldn't seem to keep their mouths shut about that dragon slaying business. But he asked anyway, a smug grin on his stupid face.

And Hawke, being the _idiot_ that she was- figured she would just go ahead and tell them, as the truth was bound to come out soon enough anyway.

She was a mercenary, plain and true. She had a loyal group of people to follow her about and do jobs for all manner of people in Kirkwall. She killed people, she saved people, and sometimes she even managed to help the City itself. Though she tried to extoll the more glamorous part about her work, she could see that it wouldn't make a difference.

Bethany looked horrified, upon learning that the daggers Hawke always carried weren't just for self-defense. As if the thought of her sister actively killing someone was impossible. Leandra was irate; her screams probably could have been heard in Hightown. How her eldest daughter could soil what little reputation the Amell family had left was inexcusable, that she'd been selling herself, her arm, for all manner of _low_ characters.

But Hawke plowed through, telling them how rich this Expedition could make them, how all of Leandra's efforts to reclaim the estate could be backed by coin. Coin to keep protecting Bethany from the Templars and ensure that she could live a normal life. Coin to make sure that Hugo could grow up with all the comforts of nobility, with an education, and a chance at a future. Hawke tried to explain, but her mother would hear none of it, banishing her from the house for "_however long it takes me to comprehend that my daughter is a murderer_".

Thankfully Fenris's mansion had gotten plenty of attention from the elf- because it wasn't like he had much to do besides brood when he wasn't taken along on a mission- and was looking more like a cozy little hovel and less like an abandoned corpse ridden grave yard. Hawke had been staying in one of his spare rooms for close to four days now.

The loss of her family hit Hawke like a hammer blow. She tried to keep herself occupied, certainly having no lack of tasks set before her. All of her companions needed to be packed and ready for the trip. She met them in their respective dwellings and made sure they had the supplies and armor needed to continue, and then helped them get their things up to Hightown. The little group had taken up residence at Fenris's as well, as there was no lack of room, and it was a splendid base of operations. The elf certainly didn't mind the company, as much as he tried to deny it; Hawke could see that he was happy to be surrounded by people cooking, cleaning, drinking, and just spending time together.

The armor bit was tricky; Isabela protested about covering her cleavage, Merrill and Fenris griped about _shoes_ and Anders said that the leather chafed. But they would all be protected, by the Maker; Hawke would see everyone out of this alive, even if she had to carry them through the damn tunnels herself.

The second thing Varric asked her to do was ask Aveline to come with them, as the shieldmaiden's skill would be much appreciated. That was a less violent "no", as the captain was simply too busy to take a month of time away from the city. It was rather heartfelt actually; the woman ended up crying by the end of it with some speech about how Hawke helped her get to her position as Captain and it would only be right to repay the favor. But she had a duty to the City of Kirkwall as well, one that could not be ignored.

Hawke sighed, putting her arms behind her head as they walked, Varric was silent for a time, thinking about all she'd said.

"It'll all be worth it." He hazarded, and Hawke nodded, her eyes distant as she stared up into the sky. The blue reminded her of Hugo's eyes.

"It'll all be worth it." She echoed.

* * *

Summerday rose up to meet them, and Kirkwall _rejoiced_. Bloomingtide began with a bang; specifically the stunning fireworks show that burst forth from the gallows.

"The mages have really out done themselves this year." Hawke said loudly, over the din of the crowd.

"Good; this might be the last time we see it! It better be damn well _unbelievable_!"

Isabela laughed and threw back another glass of wine. The two women walked arm and arm through the crowded Hightown streets. Hawke wore the white dress Sebastian had bought for her and Isabella, a gorgeous blue dyed tunic with gold embroidery that reached her upper thighs and was tied with a scarlet sash around her waist. Her boots were gone in place of delicate red slippers, and her hair was pulled back in braids piled atop her head and dotted with little white flowers- courtesy of Merrill.

Hawke likewise had her sparse bits of hair tightly braided, and covered with a crown of tulips, augmented with a plume of baby's breath. She couldn't remember a time when she felt more beautiful. It was almost enough to make her forget about the empty space in her arms where she wanted Hugo to be. This was her last day in Kirkwall, and she desperately wanted to hold her baby before going down into the roads. But still no word had come from her mother- this would be the first Summerday spent away from her family.

Though in a bittersweet kind of way, she supposed she had a new family to spend it with.

The crowd opened up to the chantry court yard, where the stars mingled with the enchanted lanterns floating overhead. The yard was sparkling with glamour charms and flowers bloomed across every creeping vine that was naturally without them. The tiles of the yard were even decorated with sprawling murals of flowers, scattered with golden wheat that crunched when one stepped over it.

Lords and ladies spun around the space, music rising from the top of the stairs where a choir and small orchestra was being conducted by one of the city's prominent composers. The men and women wore all shades of white and green, twirling about in each other's arms in a haze of wine and perfume.

The Viscount stood near the middle of the staircase, his son next to him- looking terribly uncomfortable. Though when Seamus caught sight of Hawke among the crowd, he gave her an enthusiastic wave. She'd have to remember to spirit him away, later, and see if the Dumar line lived up to its noble status on the dance floor.

Over all, it was like a scene from a fairy tale, one that had Hawke bobbing her head along to the music.

Isabela caught her arm, "Come on, kitten. Let's dance, shall we?"

Throwing her head back to laugh, Hawke let the pirate drag her out among the dancers, putting her arms around her shoulders while Isabela took the lead. The woman was as graceful a dancer as she was a fighter, spinning Hawke away and then pulling her back in to step around the couples in time to the music. Her golden eyes twinkled with mirth and Hawke laughed along with her when she whispered about the atrocious outfits sported by Kirkwall's upstanding elite.

They danced for quite a few songs, endeavoring to insult every uptight old noble who dared observe them. Sebastian cut in after a while; making good on Hawke's promise to accompany him. Thankfully the agreement was sans-Knight Commander, as Meredith had chosen to stay in the Gallows this year, to keep watch over the mages as they sent up their periodic fireworks throughout the night.

As usual Hawke and Isabela tried to get Sebastian to drink, and as usual he declined, as politely as he could. Which was probably for the best; seeing as he ended up half carrying the both of them back to Fenris's mansion.

After helping Isabela stumble into her room, the archer carefully guided Hawke towards hers. She was all giggles and flirtation, which normally made the Chantry Brother blush, but tonight only drew out the slightest of smiles, as if it'd never bothered him to begin with.

They approached the door, and after several attempts at grabbing the handle by herself, Sebastian took the liberty of sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her inside.

"You…The more time I spend with you; the less I believe you're a Priest." Hawke giggled, putting her head on his chest and admiring the white leather vest that fit him so well.

Sebastian chuckled, setting her down on her bed, and delicately taking off her pink slippers, "Maybe that's because I'm only pretending to be a priest."

She gasped, and collapsed into a fit of drunken giggles as he began to tuck the covers around her, "I knew it, I knew it!" He smiled down at her as he pulled the covers up to her chin,

"Too bad you won't remember this marvelous discovery in the morning, little dove."

She yawned as he pushed a stray hair from her eyes, smiling at how they tried to spring free from the braids,

"That's fine; you'll still be here…for me to figure it out…again." she muttered, her eyes drifting closed.

Sebastian sat by her bed side a while longer, watching the even rise and fall of the blankets. He ran a hand through his hair, hefting a sigh as he stood,

"Get all the sleep you can, Marian. It'll be the last night of pleasant dreams for quite some time."

With that, he blew out her candles and left the room quietly as he could, shutting the door softly behind him.


	5. Missing

**AN: Hello dear readers! As promised, the chapters will be shorter and the updates quicker! I hope you enjoy :)**

**The introduction of this chapter is best read to "Any Other Name" by Thomas Newman**

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"_So I see you've finally made some friends." _

_Marian scoffed, kicking her feet gently into the open air. They were just a few centimeters short from reaching the glassy surface of the pond. They'd always been too short, no matter how much she grew._

_The grassy fields swayed with a gentle wind, bringing the smells of spring flowers on the breeze. The sun was high in the sky, and just above the old oak tree that loomed over the dock. Its rays came through the leaves, sprinkling the old wood with speckles of shifting light, while the occupants sat in cool shadow._

"_If by "made friends" you mean, "amassed sell swords" then yes. I suppose I have a whole group of _friends_." She said, bitterly. She kicked one bare foot harder, trying to reach the water, hating how placid it was. _

"_When did you get so sour?" _

_She let out a short bark of laughter, "Just recently. Mother kicked me out; for trying to _help_."_

"_You've been this way for much longer than that. It's been over a year since we last spoke- and you were just the same. You hide behind so many walls…" his hands touched down onto her shoulders. It was all she could do not to lean back into his arms. But a little part of her head reminded her-weakly- that this was just a hallucination; it wasn't really Garret. It never would be again._

"_This is my dream, why are you trying to play head shrink?"_

_Marian turned around to look at her brother. Garret looked so much like their father. The last time Marian had seen truly him; he was fifteen, but now he looked to be nearing the half point of his life. There were wrinkles that were too soon for his age, and a seriousness in his golden eyes that only came with seeing horrors, and storming through them. He had a full beard now, just like their father, and shaggy black hair to match. He was all grown up. _

"_I'm not trying to mess about with your thoughts, little sister," He smiled sadly, "I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright." His brows furrowed, "You're in the deep roads." It wasn't a question._

"_Yes, to make my fortune." She said sarcastically, looking back out at the water._

"_That is no place for you." He murmured, laying his head on her shoulder. She sighed and shimmied backwards till she was flush to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, with a heavy sigh of his own._

"_We Hawke's have a way of worming into the most Maker forsaken places, I suppose." She mused, enjoying the smell of pine that clung to his clothing. _

"_That we do." He said quietly into her back. _

_They sat that way for a time, as they often did when Marian had these dreams. The realism was almost frightening at times; but she supposed with all the mage blood in her family that her connection to the fade was strong enough to craft such a vision. These rare dreams had become the only place she honestly felt at home, since Garret went away._

_The two were so close as children. Her elder brother worshipped the ground she walked on, and was at her side always. He didn't care that it was dangerous for him to be out and about with his magic always simmering just under the surface. Garret didn't have a cowardly bone in his body, or a meek one. He was quiet, and intelligent. Never did he have the sharp tongue like Marian, but always an integrity and bravery to match it. No one got to bully Marian like they did Carver and Bethany-who stayed near the house, giving in to the fear of the Templars- because they were much too frightened of her looming shadow, with the rock like fists._

_Thick as thieves they were- until it all came crashing down around them._

"_I suppose I'll need to wake up soon." She said, tracing idle circles on the cuff of his tunic, "Get back to my "friends"." She felt his smile through the thin material of her shirt, and he lifted his head to rest his chin on her shoulder. The tickle of his beard against her neck made her squirm a bit._

"_You know mother will forgive you." He said, glancing up at her._

"_I know. We are family, after all." She snorted, "plus, she'll have to when I buy her house back; my baby is getting a proper place to live whether she likes it or not." _

_She felt his entire body tense up, and his head jerk off her shoulder. Garret scooted back and then turned her around to face him, his eyes wide with disbelief, _

"**Baby**_? Marian what-"_

"Hawke!"

Cold water splashed onto her face, sending a spasm of ice all over her aching body. She sat up with a yelp, coughing and sputtering as the water trickling from her hair blinded her. After a moment of gasping and rubbing her eyes- Hawke shook her head violently and looked for her assailant.

Fenris stood above her, bucket in hand, and a satisfied smirk on his face. Behind him, peeking in the entrance of her tent was Anders, looking an interesting mix of horrified and concerned. Fenris set the bucket aside and put a hand on his hip,

"An ogre could have charged through camp and I doubt you would have noticed." Hawke began to shake rather violently. All she wore was a loose woolen tunic, that was now thoroughly soaked through. Fenris had the decency to appear guilty, and looked about till his eyes lit on the stack of blankets next to her. He knelt down and wrapped one around her shoulders, his hands careful not to touch her skin.

"See, look what you've done!" Anders made to shove his way into the small space along with them, "I could have just performed a simple waking spell-"

"None of your _magic_ will be necessary here, abomination." Fenris growled, standing to shove the mage out of the tent. One hand stretched out against the mage's chest, and no matter how Anders struggled, the elf was clearly stronger. The other he used to take hold of the tent flap while glancing back at the shell shocked woman, "Get dressed, Hawke. Bartrand and Varric have asked for you. It seems they've run into a problem."

He closed the flap behind them, and Hawke sat in the darkness for a moment, rubbing her head with the blanket. She had the most wonderful dream- though for the life of her she couldn't remember what it was. Despite the water chilling her to the bone; she still felt better than she had in some time. Just the pick-me-up she needed to keep trudging through this blasted Expedition.

Hawke glanced to the side and noticed Melvin crammed next to her, his massive head lying between his paws,

"A fat lot of help you were. What if they'd been darkspawn?"

The dog woofed softly in response, licking her hand and wagging his nub. She rolled her eyes and threw a pillow on top of his head before getting up to change.

When she emerged from her little tent, the camp looked to already be in full swing. Dwarves were scuttling about all over the place. Mainly they stood in little clumps, inspecting dirt or some odd fungus they'd scooped up on the daily march. Some of the human hirelings moved about camp with pales of water- so that's where Fenris must've found the damn bucket. They moved around the carts, filling the mules' oat bags and setting the water near them.

Her companions sat around her general vicinity as well. Hawke's group had been allowed a separate space for their encampment, as some of her companions objected to the company of strangers. Their little clump of tents was situated a few yards away from the dwarven circle of carts. They kept their tents in a tight ring with a little fire burning merrily in the middle. Though the dwarves had offered their stone heaters for warmth; the mages insisted that they weren't necessary. One spell later, Merrill and Anders had a crackling fire burning in their freshly dug pit; that needed no tending, because it would not catch, and no refueling as it ran off of a small charmed rock at the center of the hole. Whoever said mages weren't useful was blind, deaf, and dumb.

Hawke located each respective companion, making sure everyone was present and accounted for.

Anders and Fenris were still bickering- more like Anders was complaining loudly at Fenris's back as the elf polished one of his clawed metal gauntlets. Fenris was more on edge than the rest of them; not enjoying the 'completley trapped with no hope for escape' feeling that the deep roads were famous for. As a result, every piece of his armor had been polished till it shone- even the boots Hawke made him wear, which he hated, nearly sparkled in the firelight- and one could hear him going through stances every hour that he wasn't sleeping or marching.

Anders, for all his moaning and groaning about the return to the 'blighted deep roads', seemed to be enjoying himself. Hawke could only assume it was because there were no Templars down here, and thus Justice had nothing to gripe about. He was active in the decision making, likely reliving his Warden days. He enjoyed being able to speak freely to people- practice his magic freely, and feel more important and free than he'd ever been since his time in Amaranthine- which he'd become considerably more talkative about during the evening fires. The stories about his time with the Warden Commander were so outrageous, that even Fenris perked up an ear to listen. All Hawke could say was this; if she ever met that Tabris woman, it would be top priority not to make her angry.

Merrill and Isabela sat near a wash bucket, cleaning their underclothes in preparation for the next session of travel. Merrill was faring about as well as Fenris; hating the cold stone even more than she hated the city when she compared it to the forest she'd grown up in. Her Dalish superiority showed more than ever as she looked on with wide eyed disdain at nearly everything around her. They didn't let her talk to the dwarves, lest she say something stupid and insulting that got them trapped down here for the rest of their days. Most of the time she followed meekly behind Anders or Isabela, speaking little beyond the occasional question about when they might get to rest next.

Isabela was by far the cheeriest of her group. That was to be expected, as the woman was cheerful about damn near everything. Her only complaint was the lack of ale; seeing as the dwarves thought it practical to keep the spirits to a minimum. Humph, dwarves indeed.

She assumed Sebastian was out scouting the tunnels as he was apt to do- a week of being down here and the man couldn't seem to sit still. And Varric was undoubtedly with Bartrand in their tent across the way, waiting to tell her the bad news.

They'd been lucky so far; no darkspawn. Hawke was forced to stay up near the front of the group along with Anders, as they both had extensive experience with the ghastly things. But as of yet they hadn't run into any. Something Hawke was immensely grateful for. As far as Anders' maps could tell, they were about a week away from the hidden tunnel that would take them down into the Primevil thaig. Though Bartrand drove the caravan like a slaver; convinced that the darkspawn would stream back into the tunnels now that the Blight was over, as soon as they were far enough from the surface to run. Anders assured him that the Warden Commander in Amaranthine was keeping them _plenty_ busy, and they were in no danger of stumbling upon a battalion, much less a full scale horde. And any monsters they did come across- well that's the reason Hawke and her crew came so well recommended, wasn't it?

Pushing aside the tent flap, Hawke found the dwarven brothers deep in conversation, their heads nearly touching as they leaned over the maps.

"…idiot; the scout said that tunnel was completely caved in, the only way around is through that side passage."

"Ah yes, the one that choir boy came back from reporting-what was it- oh yes; "Hordes of giant spiders". Sounds like a great place to spread dozens of people out through when we have less than ten _capable_ fighters."

Bartrand slammed his hands down onto the table, snarling into his brother's face, "Then take your damned crew through there and _clear them out_! We've been camped here for too long, and we risk interrupting the schedule if we stay another night."

"Oh, _pardon me_, brother. I should've thought before I spoke." Varric gushed, "Would you like me to give you and the _schedule_ some alone time?"

"Excuse me?" Hawke crossed her arms, "I was summoned?"

Bartrand rounded on her, pointing a sausage like finger at her chest, "You- You heard all that just now?"

At her nod he looked at her like she was the stupidest woman in all of Thedas, "Then what in the sodding hell are you doing standing here? Go get your band of miscreants and play exterminator so we can get this Expedition up and moving!"

An irritated Varric ushered her out of the tent and followed her back through camp, pinching the bridge of his nose,

"I would apologize for my brother's behavior but it would be premature, seeing as he is no doubt going to keep getting worse the deeper in we go."

Hawke shrugged, "You forget that I too have a vexatious brother." The approached her companions. They must have heard Bartrand's rant, as they were each in various stages of preparation. Including Merrill's daily complaining about the soft leather boots Hawke made her wear. Though when she took attendance, Hawke noticed they were missing on priestly archer.

"Damnit all, where did that frilly monk get off to?" Hawke muttered, looking about for someone who might know, while Varric briefed the rest of the crew on the specifics of the mission.

"Oh, Serrah Hawke!" Came a reedy voice. She turned with raised eyebrows to find the bearded merchant in Bartrand's employ who she'd come to know as Bohdan Fedic. The man occasionally sat around their fire with his son. He was particularly interested in Anders' stories of Warden Commander Tabris; claiming the woman and her heroic companions used _his _cart to travel around Thedas and stop the Darkspawn. But there was no joy in his eyes now, only fear and worry. He hopped from foot to foot in a panic, "I've been looking all over camp for you, my Lady!"

She put a hand on his shoulder, "Calm yourself, man. Tell me what's happened."

"It's my boy, Sandal! He's run off in that side tunnel the scouts have been exploring." The dwarf wrung his hands, "This morning, I may have mentioned it to that Andrastian who follows you about, I think he-uh- took it upon himself to go look for the lad."

Hawke had to work to keep her eyes from bugging out of her head. It was one thing to scout from the shadows, but to actively search and possibly fight off enemies to protect a mentally handicapped dwarf, was another entirely. The man was trying to get himself killed!

"I'll find your boy when I locate my _Andrastian_, no doubt." She said from between clenched teeth. Marching back to her merry band of misfits, she slung her bow and daggers onto her back,

"Let's go, we have a lot of work to do."


	6. Rescue?

**AN: Oh my goodness! For a moment there I was so afraid that my muse had abandoned me! But today she peeked her head over the edge of my bed and whacked me with my laptop. The story is finally starting to flow the way I want it to, and I am a little more certain of where it might be headed.**

**This ends in a bit of a cliffhanger so i will try to update either tomorrow or Monday...rest assured, it will be swift!**

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What a nice day this'd turned out to be.

Not that Hawke had any higher hopes than trekking through tunnels; but trekking through tunnels filled with imminent danger was a bit more than she'd prepared herself for. Goodness, had she known that a herd of darkspawn was waiting _just_ around the corner she would have worn her best shoes!

She spat some blood out of her mouth, wincing. One of the beasts had caught her jaw with a steel gauntlet, causing her to bite the side of her tongue. Now the thing felt big and cumbersome and tender.

So far they'd carved through at least twenty of them, making their way slowly through the cramped passage. The mages were up front, lighting the way. Fenris stood just behind them with his sword free of its sheath, and ready for more monsters to come screaming out of the shadows. Isabela and Hawke flanked Varric, their weapons drawn as well. Everyone was on edge; a big party like theirs couldn't move with any kind of stealth. But then again, that was the point. If Sebastian was down here in these tunnels alone- or with Sandal, which wasn't much of a difference- he'd need all the help he could get.

Suddenly, Fenris held up a clawed hand. The party came to a stop, and Hawke could see the elf's ears perked up. Merrill was listening too; her time with the Dalish making her hearing nearly as precise as the warrior.

"They are close." He murmured, signaling Hawke to come up next to him. She nodded and crept forward.

"You are the best in the shadows, Hawke. Tell us what's around that corner," His dark brows furrowed, "It sounds…numerous. But I heard a human voice in the middle of it all."

The rouge nodded, picking her way soundlessly ahead. She moved along the slick walls of the tunnel, careful to keep her balance on the treacherous holes and steps. Her feet glided across the gravel without so much as one rock displaced. She felt a soft sigh pass through her lips; this was easier than it'd ever been, like there was a cloak that fell over her, hiding her from the rest of the world. She felt confidence surging through her as she approached the corner. Sliding up to the very edge of the tunnel, she let just the barest edges of her vision breech the opening.

A darkspawn stood not even two paces away from her.

Hawke's eyes widened, but her body froze. The beast seemed to be on alert; it'd heard something, though it wasn't sure what. Hawke willed her body to move, but an icy cold seeped through her bones; a terror she couldn't explain. Nothing like this had happened earlier, or any other time she'd fought them. Maybe it was her close proximity to the thing. The stench of rot that radiated off of its yellowed skin or the ichor that dripped from its cloudy eyes. Hundreds of years of darkness and bloodshed rose up before her. The screams of innocents slaughtered at the hands of these monsters; the fires of war. Her body was rooted to its exact spot, an age old _panic_ that was carved into her very soul kept her there. She didn't dare to even breathe, her vision going dark around the corners.

_Move, Marian_.

Everything snapped into place and Hawke's dagger slid between the armored plates that clung to the thing's side. A numb fury replaced the ice in her veins and she set her mouth in a grim line. She locked an arm around its mouth; her wrist guard acting as a gag while she yanked the struggling demon back around the corner with her. Twisting the dagger and using it's momentary spasm of pain to her advantage, she slammed the beast onto the floor and plunged her other dagger into its eye, and further into the brain. Black blood spewed out from the wound, barely missing her face as she held it down. Thankfully it was speedy about dying. She hopped to her feet once more and moved around the corner to where the thing had been standing watch.

Flicking the blood off her daggers, she felt the confidence return; no petty magic tricks would keep her from rescuing- and then throttling- that stupid priest. The memory of the terror unnerved her though; maybe she would talk to Anders about it when they got back to camp. If anyone had an explanation it might be him.

The rest of the entry way was clear, so Hawke crept through it to get a good look at the cavern ahead.

It seemed to be a dwarven made cave, with darkspawn remodeling. Red banners hung around the walls and the grizzly barricades that so often accompanied darkspawn presence littered the walkway. Hawke could never tell if it was flesh or just some odd metal that they were made of- and truth be told she didn't really want to know. Stairs led from her spot down onto a walkway made of salvaged rock and what looked to be rotting timbers. It led above the bulk of the cave, seeming to avoid the darkened pit below, though there were metal cables hanging down into it.

Hawke began to wonder what the cables were for, when five of the monstrosities came around the corner, and crowded around what looked to be a huge axle; flanked by two stone gears on either side. Her eyes traced up the chain connected to it, and found that it was bolted onto several massive support beams stretching over the chasm. The beams it seemed, were the anchor points for the metal cables.

The darkspawn each grabbed the handles protruding from the gear and let out growls and grunts as they pushed. The chain and cable let out thunderous creaks and squeals as they were drawn tight. After a few minutes of retraction; a shape began to appear from out of the darkness below. It was a platform, the kind usually seen in mines or quarries. On it stood a gigantic Hurlock Alpha. It held onto the chain casually with one hand, and in the other- Hawke's breath caught in her throat- was a sleek whitewood bow, with the royal crest of Starkhaven etched into the grip. Andraste's flaming ass; the archer was down in that _pit_-with Maker only knows what else. She only prayed that they had to pry that bow out of his _unconscious_ hands.

The Alpha stepped off the platform as soon as it wrenched to a halt on the level of the walkway. Its impossibly deep voice rumbled out from the horned helmet, and in response one of the grunts came up to take the bow; slinging it over its shoulder like it was nothing. The pack stood there for a moment more, the Alpha relaying some kind of instructions, before the bulk of them moved off.

One lone guard was left behind, standing just next to the pulley. The cavern was so dark that Hawke wouldn't have even known the thing was there; if not for the dull shine of the bow on its back.

The thought of that bow- which Sebastian said had belonged to his _Grandfather_, another in their long line of Royal archers- becoming drenched in the taint and falling into ruin just as all else the darkspawn touched made Hawke's blood boil in her veins. She whipped her own off her back, and was about to grab for an arrow, when a hand stayed her.

"You were just going to charge off into that pit all by your lonesome without even telling us, hmm?" Isabela's voice was right in Hawke's ear; trained to the barest whisper. The pirate moved to her side, barely perceptible in the looming shadows.

"The rest are just behind." She said, eyeing the cavern ahead of them, "And I don't think we will all fit on that lift."

"I know." Hawke ground her teeth, "five at _most_, not including the supposed two we'll have to bring up with us."

Isabela regarded the situation with a critical eye for a moment, "You're going down there, I assume?"

"Wouldn't be Hawke if she didn't." Varric crept up behind them, both of the women shooting him an irritated look at the volume of his whisper. He held up his hands, but checked behind as the rest of their group snuck up as well.

"There was an Alpha- _big_ Alpha." Hawke said, stressing the size with her hands, "Want to avoid him during our little rescue mission, so we will need to take that guard out quietly." She turned herself around while Isabela kept her eyes trained on the unsuspecting spawn,

"Anders and Fenris- you're with me. Varric, Isabela, Merrill, you stay up here and keep watch. If any come by, kill them quietly- we don't want a whole battalion coming down on us while we are split up." They nodded, and she turned to Varric, "You think you can do it?"

Varric squinted into the darkness, pulling Bianca off his back and looking into the sights. After a moment he hissed from between clenched teeth, "That's a shitty shot, Hawke. It's blacker than an Archdemon's ass down here, and we are just barely out of deadly firing range."

"Um- I could try?" They all looked back at Merrill, who stared around with wide eyes. She wrung her hands together, and shimmied to the front between the two rouges.

"I know a spell- I think I could get him, from here, I mean." She said quietly, looking between Varric and Hawke. Hawke glanced at the dwarf, who looked at Isabela, who shrugged. She glanced at Fenris, who gave a disapproving frown but didn't move to speak. Anders had his mouth set in a frown, mouthing "blood magic".

"And you're sure it'll work?" Hawke said, reluctantly.

"Oh I'm sure- well, mostly sure- no, I mean, very sure! Goodness…" she rubbed her forehead with a scarred hand, "I…I'm quite certain it will work." At last some conviction seeped into her words.

They all sat in silence for a moment while Hawke rubbed her temples. She was what you would call a 'mage sympathizer' in the very loosest of terms. She believed they should be free, but wasn't about to stick out her neck for apostates and blood mages who were stupid enough to piss off the Templars- outside of her family, of course. Merrill was one of those cases where Hawke _wanted_ to hate her, but found those big green eyes and meek little voice too damn endearing to do so. Blood magic was a whole heap of wrong, and in any other situation she wouldn't consider it- as she'd made Merrill swear not to use it in battle unless she _had_ to.

But that walkway might as well be a welcome mat for them to go stomping across. It was the only way over to the lift, and the guard. They had to take it out from a distance before it got the chance to scream for its fellows. None of them were fast enough to cover the space in enough time to shut the thing up; it had to be a ranged attack. Anders would be ideal with his spectacular affinity for blowing shit up with raging primal magic- but of course that was entirely too loud for their situation.

"…Be quick about it." Hawke grunted, and moved to the other side of the entrance with Fenris and the other mage.

"Once Merrill has him down," They glanced over at the elf as she pulled a dagger from her hip and began quietly chanting, "We are all going to need to run like hell over to that lift. I don't know what's down there, and I don't know how long we will have until a patrol comes round, so when we get to the other side we need to hop on, get down, and get out."

The men nodded as Merrill drew the blade across her hand, the blood glowed eerily in the darkness. They watched in morbid fascination as the darkspawn across the room could barely be seen jerking around like a rag doll, before hitting the ground with a dull thud.

Wasting no time with questions, Hawke launched herself out onto the walkway. She could hear her companions behind her as they sped over the yawning chasm. She glanced down and could see nothing but blackness, with the occasional cable stretching out of it. Could hear nothing, smell nothing. It was just emptiness, and it made her stomach clench up. But she pressed ahead, not allowing herself to fear the worst. That pair of soft blue eyes swam up into her vision and whispered words echoed through her ears in a rumbling brogue,

".._little dove…"_

"Make sure you get the bow!" She hissed as her feet pounded harder against the wood, nearly jumping onto the platform. Anders and Fenris were just behind her, all of them holding onto the cable in the middle for balance. Varric and the others surrounded the cranking mechanism and the dwarf's eyes met hers,

"Make it quick, Hawke. Can't go losing my partner before we even have gold to argue about."

"You know I'll always come back to you, my dwarven stallion," She grinned with a composure she did not feel, and blew him a kiss before the chains squealed- and the lift began to lurch down into the darkness.

* * *

Anders and Fenris were coiled tight as springs, watching with trepidation as the light leeched away from their world. Soon they couldn't even see their own hands in front of their faces. Hawke placed her half gloved fingers over Fenris's gauntlet, and Ander's exposed skin, letting them know she was still there.

The darkness was intense and all consuming, they had no idea how far down they'd gone when the platform finally crashed onto the ground. The sudden jerk threw all but Fenris onto the ground, while the elf barely kept to his knees with one hand clinging to the cable.

"_Hawke_!" he croaked, even his voice smothered by the oppressive black around them.

"I'm fine, Anders could we get a light?"

"Ugh…yes, just give me a moment. I'm covered in some sticky-I don't even…"

A heartbeat later, they were temporarily blinded as a ball of blue magelight shot up from the tip of Anders' staff.

Hawke stumbled as she'd been in the process of regaining her footing, and grabbed onto the cable for support. White and black dots danced in her vision for several long seconds, while a shooting pain lanced through her head. She groaned quietly and rubbed her eyes before blinking away the building tears.

"Hawke…you will want to see this." Fenris's hand gripped her arm, steadying her.

"Oh don't tell me we've ended up in some kind of darkspawn harem. An orgy is the _last_ thing I want to see right now."

"You might want to re-evaluate what tops your list of unwanted sights, then."

Hawke moved her hand away from her face, and blinked in the dull light. The sphere was up near the tapered ceiling of the new cavern. It looked as if the people who discovered this place carved a hole _just_ big enough for the lift apparatus to slide through. It wasn't as large as the previous cave, though there were many more natural looking holes in the walls that seemed to be branching tunnels.

Though the fact that nearly everything in sight was covered in massive, sticky, spider webs kind of overshadowed all the other details about the place.

"…_shit_." Hawke muttered her eyes wide.

Anders was scrambling back onto the platform, his staff clutched tightly in his hands. He too had several webs lingering on his back where he'd fallen, and looked about to be sick.

"_I_…_hate_…_spiders_." He gasped out, barely able to form the words.

"Well lucky for you there are none yet to be seen." Fenris spat, testing the ground with a booted foot. It came away with some effort, "We will be able to walk on this mess- let us do so, and then be done with this place."

The elf strode off the platform, sword in hand and eyes racing around the cavern. Hawke was soon to follow, dragging Anders along by the collar of his borrowed leather armor. They walked cautiously through the field of webs, stumbling occasionally on cocoons of some sort. What was beneath the threads; Hawke did not want to know.

"Look there." Fenris pointed with his sword; there was a squat dwarven made door across the cave, on which the webs looks to be recently torn away.

"If Sebastian is anywhere- I'll bet that'll be it." Hawke grunted, yanking her foot free from the sticky ground and moving towards it. When they got close, she heard a faint sound from inside. With a glance at Fenris-and his nod- she moved forward, putting her lips close to the stone,

"Sebastian?"

There were a few more shuffling sounds from within, and Hawke held her breath.

A beat of silence.

Another.

"…Marian?"

The door slid open the barest amount, and she saw blue eyes reflecting the sparse light. She could barely contain herself as she shoved the door the rest of the way open,

"_Sebastian_! I could kiss you, you stupid _stupid_ _**stupid**_ man!" Hawke threw her arms around his neck and hugged him close, relief swelling up into her chest. She hadn't dared to doubt- doubt would only hinder her. But there was always the nagging fear. It was silent now that she could feel his warm breath at her neck, and his arms encircle her back. He held her just as tightly and she felt his chest shudder,

"_By all that is Holy_," He whispered into her hair, his voice raw and cracked, "Marian, you're _here_. I'd thought this room to be my grave…"

"And it may yet be!" Fenris growled from behind them, looking up at the ceiling with his sword raised in challenge.

Anders let out a groan like whimper, holding his staff in front of him with trembling arms, as he too turned his gaze up to the top of the cavern.

Hawke turned from Sebastian, though one of his arms still clutched around her waist protectively. Her eyes followed those of her fellows, and lit upon a massive shape that was making its way slowly out of a hole up near the entrance to the cavern. The magelight swirled just in front of it; illuminating very clearly what crawled out into the cave with them, leg by _leg_.

"Maker preserve us…" Sebastian murmured, and Hawke could only echo the saying in her own mind, as the gigantic spider turned each and every one of its beady eyes, to focus on them.

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**Just to make sure no one hurts me, let it be known that I love Merrill in all her adorable glory. Do I approve of blood magic and the like? nah, not so much. But there won't be much excessive character bashing in this story- that isn't followed up by swift redemption, anyways. I ain't that kinda gal.**


	7. Everyone Hates Spiders

**AN: And here we go! Speedy update as promised.**

**The battle in this chapter is best accompanied with "Blackheart" by Two Steps from Hell**

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The overwhelming horror of their situation began to set in as the great beast made its way slowly down the cave wall. Venom dripped down from the massive barb that stuck out from its thorax, and mandibles clicked together menacingly. Each of its massive legs moved in perfect harmony with the others as it crept towards them, seeming to be in no hurry what so ever. Hawke didn't blame it for the leisurely pace; if she knew the offending party had absolutely no hope of survival, she'd not be in any rush to get to them either.

As the spider moved ever closer Fenris whipped around and -to every one's surprise- addressed Anders,

"Mage! Can you summon one of your lightning storms to distract it?"

"Distract it? Why- Oh." Anders looked up at the thing, then over to the lift. If they could get to the platform up and out, there was no way for the monster to follow them; the hole that led back up to the first cavern was much too small for it to fit through.

Anders immediately set about gathering energy between his hands. Instantly little sparks of electricity began to jump back and forth between his palms. His eyes glowed a ghostly blue and his voice was joined by another unearthly one when he spoke,

"All of you, go! I will need to stay behind to concentrate, but I will follow as soon as it's done."

Hawke planted her feet, glancing back as Sebastian hurried into the room behind them for something, "Anders if you think I'm leaving you here alone; you're dead wrong. Fenris, you take Sebastian-" She paused as the priest came out the door once more, guiding a lanky dwarf with silver hair and eerie blue eyes. The little man gave her a peaceful grin, and she recognized him as Bodahn's boy, Sandal, "-and Sandal, over to the lift. I will make sure we get there too, whether the storm works or not."

Fenris scowled at her, clearly not liking the idea of leaving her alone with the mage, but the look in her eyes brokered no argument. He growled and strode over to the dwarf; slinging him up and over his shoulder without warning. Sandal laughed and clapped his hands together. The hair on Anders' head began to stand up as the electricity jumped and sparked all around his hands to where they were nearly lost in the blinding light of it.

Sebastian made to follow Fenris, but stopped just before hopping down onto the web covered floor. He turned and looked at Hawke, indecision warring in his eyes. Though without his weapons he knew he'd only be a hindrance if the monster made it down to them. She saw his fists clench and his teeth grind together,

"Marian, please be careful..." A hand brushed against hers before he jumped down and followed after Fenris as best he could across the treacherous ground.

Hawke swallowed past the lump in her throat, touching the tingling spot on the back of her hand where his fingers had brushed. The magelight above them began to flicker as Anders' magic was consumed by the building storm in his hands. Hawke watched the shapes of her comrades move across the cave, until she could just barely make them out in the darkness.

Finally the light overhead sputtered one last surge; illuminating the massive spider that was nearly over their heads. The thing raised its front two legs to strike out at them, just as the light went out.

Though they weren't in the darkness for very long.

Anders' unearthly scream echoed throughout the cavern, hundreds of voices wailing along with it. The light he'd been struggling to contain within his hands exploded outward. Hawke was blown backwards, her head cracking against the cave wall. The electricity slammed into the beast, drawing out a grating screech from the thing. Though it tried; its sticky grip was dislodged from the wall with the force of the blast. The spider was knocked to the ground, making it shudder from the impact. The beast squirmed around on its back for a moment before righting itself. Though it couldn't advance due to the typhoon of energy that raced around the cavern. Electricity jumped from rock to rock, tunnel to tunnel, body to body. Even with the impeccable control Anders had on the lightning to keep it from killing his comrades, they still felt the white hot burning of power run through their veins.

Hawke's vision swam around before her. Lights exploded in front of her eyes and she ground her teeth at the feel of blood trickling out from her hairline. She struggled to her feet, able to see the massive shape that was trying to battle its way towards them. Then she felt a rush of healing magic surge through her. She stared at Anders, who was completely cloaked in glowing energy, and floating a few inches off the ground. She'd never realized how much he restrained himself in the city; unable to release the full force of his magic for fear of attracting too much attention. Abomination or no, the man was a force of nature in his own right.

One hand extended out towards the struggling beast, and one towards Hawke; healing her, Anders turned his head a fraction in her direction, his voice booming around the cavern,

"I can only keep it at bay for so long. You must destroy it." She realized quickly that the distraction tactic wouldn't work at all. The thing wasn't distracted at all; it was making its way purposefully forward, the lightning only managed to slow it down a bit. It must be due to all the raw veins of lyrium down here that the spider had such a resistance to magic. Though that meant there would be no running. They'd have to kill the thing. And by 'they', that meant 'Hawke', with Anders slowing it down a little for her. Not very friendly odds, and just about the worst they'd had thus far. Even the damn dragon in the Bone Pit had at least four fighters coming at it from all sides. This time Hawke had to take down the beast all by herself. She had to; lest they risk drawing attention to the more defenseless side of their party. She flexed her hands and steeled herself.

Just a walk in the park, Hawke, a really dangerous, venomous walk.

Hawke nodded, feeling her energy return to her as the healing faded away. She whipped her daggers off her back and sprung off the stone steps, a path of clear ground carved away by the lightning. She sprinted towards the screaming beast, adrenaline roaring through her veins. Through its pain the monster seemed to notice her approach, and whipped its head towards her. The mandibles flared and it turned its massive body her way, struggling to keep its ground against the constant lances of energy that speared it. Hawke ducked and slid beneath it when a leg lashed out to meet her. Her daggers pierced its underbelly, but only slightly as its armored skin resisted the attack.

She rolled to the side to avoid the lightning fast stinger which lodged itself in the ground where she'd been only a moment before. Rolling again she stumbled onto her feet and avoided another swipe from the spider's log like legs. Though she did not anticipate the one that came just after it. It caught her at the midriff and slammed her into a nearby rock. The breath was knocked from her lungs and she barely kept hold of her daggers. The pain was incredible, shooting up her spine and through her legs. But it soon was washed away in a tide of healing magic from her glowing friend up by the door.

"Marian, throw me your bow!" She and the spider both whipped their heads around to the newcomer in their battle. It seemed that Sebastian had abandoned the group on the lift, and come to her aid. She imagined Fenris wasn't too happy about that, but made no move to assist him due to the dead weight of a dwarf that Hawke asked him to protect.

Sebastian dodged the spider's furious mandibles and rolled behind a boulder when it made to spit acid at him. The archer sprung up from his position, drawing the thing away from Hawke as she staggered to her feet once more. She made a note in the back of her mind to throttle him once this was all over.

The archer danced across the field with a grace that would make a ballerina cry. He moved between the spider's attacks like he could see them coming a mile away, though his face betrayed just how taxing all the defensive tactics were for him. Hawke sprang into a run, flipping her dagger in her hand before making to stab at the vulnerable thorax once more. But the spider rounded on her before she got the chance, hissing as it reared up on its back legs, stinger quivering in anticipation. She used that moment to rip the bow from her back-praying that Sebastian still had his arrows- and throw it as hard as she could across the cavern, over the spider, and into the flickering darkness.

Unfortunately the beast seemed to expect this tactic and made to swat the projectile out of the air. Just as its leg made contact with the polished wood- a bolt of lightning slammed into it, sending it sprawling away from the two rouges.

With a grateful signal to Anders, Sebastian sprinted forward; sliding along the ground to avoid the monster's thrashing limbs. He grabbed the bow, and jumped onto a nearby boulder. Hawke couldn't imagine how difficult of a shot this would be with the flickering lightning that jumped around the cavern the only illumination to shoot by. But regardless, an arrow was pulled from the quiver so quickly that Hawke didn't even see his hand move to grab it. The bolt fired straight and true into one of the spider's bulging eyes.

The beast _wailed_ and convulsed on the ground as it tried to right itself. Green sludge drained from the eye where the arrow proudly buried itself. The little claws and mandibles surrounding its head scraped along the wood; desperately trying to remove it, but could find no purchase. This seemed to infuriate the thing, as it rounded on the two rouges with a hissing bellow and charged towards them.

Hawke met it head on, jamming her dagger into the plates of a leg and heaving herself onto its writhing back. Sebastian covered her with arrow after arrow; all of them landing on the impossibly small expanses of tender flesh. The beast screamed and jerked about, but Hawke clung on for all she was worth to the blades embedded in the flesh just behind its hairy head.

She and Sebastian's eyes met just as Anders let out a booming incantation, and she struck.

All three attacks hit at once; Sebastian's arrow drove into the creature's largest eye, Anders' blast of energy came down from the ceiling to coat both beast and rouge in furious lightning, and Hawke's blades came to rest on either side of the archer's bolt, twisting into the skull of the screeching monster.

Its death throes were violent. It bucked and slung itself about the cavern, with Hawke still connected to it. The massive legs began to give out, and the fall began with one of them slipping beneath the bulk of its body. When that leg gave out, the beast lurched forward and tumbled to the ground. The other legs scrambled to keep purchase but lacked the energy to do so. With a grating screech the monster slammed into the rocky earth, Hawke wrenched forward along with it. The spider rolled as its legs flailed and spasmed in pain. The beast rolled again, and this time Hawke was the one to scream as she was flung from its back to crash into the web strewn ground.

The spider writhed around a few moments more, and after a few lingering convulsions it finally lay still.

The light gathered back at the top of the cavern into a weak, sputtering magelight as Anders touched back onto the ground. The glow faded from him and his grip on his staff was the only thing keeping him on his feet. The mage looked pale and weak beyond measure, but his cloudy eyes still widened when he saw Hawke go down and disappear behind the spider's monstrous corpse.

"H-Hawke!" He croaked, making to stumble down the stairs.

Sebastian was already running towards the shadowed corner, feet pounding against the scorched ground and breaths ripping out of him. The archer skid to a stop when the spider consumed his field of vision. His eyes raced around, desperately looking for a hint of pale skin, or blue fabric, or anything that might signify Hawke's presence. Anders soon hobbled up next to him, each breath a labored one,

"Where is she?" He gasped out. The two began searching among the rubble and rock, sweeping away webs and cocoons and trying to see better in the dim light.

"Out of the way, _fools_." Fenris growled. They hadn't even heard the elf approach. He swept past them, Sandal trailing in his wake, giving the spider a friendly pat on the side. Sebastian and Anders watched as Fenris took a few cursory sniffs of the putrid air and then made a beeline forward. The elf stooped behind a few rocks, and came up with a battered Hawke in his arms. She had blood running down the right side of her unconscious face, and several tears in the leather of her vest that were stained red with her blood. Fenris cradled her close to his chest, and picked his way back towards them.

Anders was the first to move forward, struggling to draw a loose cloud of healing magic around his fingers,

"I can't do much more than tell what's broken, at the moment," He rasped, his fingers dancing over her bloodstained clothes, "A few cracked ribs, maybe a broken one…It looks like there is internal bleeding of some sort, though I don't think it's fatal," He took his hand away, and Fenris backed up a few steps, willing the glow of his tattoos to cease with the proximity of the magic. Anders rubbed his eyes, "I've run out of lyrium potions but Merrill should-"

"Then _why_ are we standing here talking about it?" Fenris spat, giving Anders a withering glare before turning on his heel and taking long strides back towards the lift. Sebastian put a shoulder under Anders' arm, earning a look of disbelief from the mage. The priest gave him a tired smile,

"We wouldn't have taken the beast down without your aide, Anders." The mage gulped, but managed to return the smile. He looked down at his feet with a nervous chuckle,

"Heh, well…I mean I couldn't just let it eat us, could I?"

Meanwhile Fenris held Hawke close, his arms tight around her back and knees. He thought of all she'd done for him. Blindly fighting off a battalion of slavers, willingly marching into the den of a magister, and even accepting his blunt prejudice against some of her comrades. And now, watching her battle the behemoth with the express orders to let her do it by herself. She'd looked magnificent in the heat of the kill. The woman was selfish, and humorous at inappropriate times-all the time- but she had a heart of gold. Her features were slack with the numbness of sleep; she was quite beautiful, despite the dirt and blood. His lips stretched into a tight line, and he allowed himself to briefly appreciate the floral scent that still barely clung to her matted hair,

"It's going to be alright Hawke…" He whispered as they approached the lift, "It's going to be fine. You're going to be fine."

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**Ah what have we here? The beginnings of attraction from our broody elf? **

**Next time: Sebastian and Fenris have a little 'discussion' about Hawke.**


	8. Wake Up!

**AN: This chapter gets a bit too conversation centric for my liking, but hey if it's your cup of tea, that's great! Just some stuff that needed to be said, little talks that have to be had. I'm starting to have big plans for this story, BIG plans! **

**And thank goodness for the time I get to write because if I didn't get all these chapters out of my head quickly they'd drive me nuts! Lemme know what you think!  
**

**Anyway, enjoy the chapter and rest assured things will get moving again next time.**

**-Ms.P**

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Anders' diagnosis was two days of bed rest, and that was with daily healing sessions. The mage said that with two broken ribs and a small internal laceration Hawke really should be down for much longer; but the expedition did not have that much time to waste. Merrill wasn't the best healer, but Anders simply couldn't do it on his own in his weakened state after drawing on so much of Justice's power. They needed Hawke up and running again to negotiate with the dwarves. Mainly Bartrand, actually.

Anders would be the first choice for the position of impromptu leader, but the man was running himself so ragged trying to get Hawke to come back to the waking world that he rarely left the woman's tent, much less had the energy to argue with a furious little man.

Varric was doing his best to placate his brother, but the words "_just leave her worthless sodding ass behind_!" flew out of the tent behind him far too often. To say the merchant prince was frustrated would be an understatement. Though all of his irritation was not necessarily aimed at his irate sibling. He was none too pleased with Hawke's decision to go charging into a death match with a giant spider. Had he known that thing lurked down there he would have suggested leaving Choir boy to his fate. Of course he wouldn't have really _meant_ it- the man grew on you after a while. But he definitely would have put up more of a fight when Hawke suggested delving down into the dark pit with none but a pissed off elf and possessed mage at her side.

Varric could practically see the massive weight of guilt settled on Sebastian Vael's shoulders like some looming predatory bird. The man sat near Hawke's tent at all times, but rarely made to go in. Mainly because Anders would let no one interrupt the healing process. But also because the constant death glare from across camp usually kept him rooted to the spot.

And who could glare better than Broody himself? Fenris might be as furious as Bartrand, though he was less vocal about it. Likely something to do with the tactical stupidity of putting the entire group at risk to rescue the priest's sorry ass. Though Varric suspected when Hawke woke she'd be getting a good rant as well for choosing to go in after the man. Truthfully Varric wasn't at all surprised by the woman's decision, and he didn't know why the elf was; this was _Hawke_ they were talking about. The rogue did her best to appear heartless and self-serving, but underneath she was just a big sap who didn't want to see the people she cared about come to any kind of harm. She did a poor job of hiding her bleeding heart; often Varric had to make sure he didn't step in its trail of good intentions when he followed after her. Probably some childhood trauma she was trying to hide away behind a comedic exterior-Varric would get the story out of her one day. But certainly not today, for even he didn't dare step into Broody's flaming line of sight.

Speak of the devil, after Varric shimmied between the circle of tents, he found Sebastian on his way back to his usual cot laid out next to Hawke's resting place. He had a hunk of bread and a mug in his hands, his eyes looked tired and Varric could see that "calm and collected" exterior starting to crack under the pressure.

Fenris glared at the man the whole way by him, and finally, it seemed Sebastian was at the end of his patience,

"Do you have something to say to me, Fenris?" He said without turning to face the other man. The archer stood before the fire pit, staring into the flames with furrowed brows.

"Oh, I have much I could say to you, priest. But it's nothing that you don't already know." Fenris's eyes were locked onto Sebastian's back, as if his gaze could pierce through it.

Now Sebastian spun on his heel and spread his arms angrily before the elf, "No, _please_! I'd _love_ to hear what you have to say! Seeing as for the past _twenty four hours_ all you've done is stare me down as if I'm no better than the darkspawn!"

Varric raised his eyebrows; this loss of temper was rather out of character for their Sebastian. He saw Isabela and Merrill perk up from across camp to listen in as well.

Fenris, never one to turn down at challenge, rose to his feet. The elf was just a few inches shorter than the human, but he still managed to stare down his nose at the man,

"Seeing as your _actions_ put us in the same amount of peril as a battalion of the things- I don't see why you should be treated any differently."

Sebastian shot back before Fenris even finished speaking, venom seeping into his words, "There was a boy, lost out in those tunnels _alone_. And you would have me just sit here and leave him to his fate?"

"That boy was not of _our_ concern!" Fenris snarled, "He is not _your_ son; you probably didn't even know his name before his spineless father came up and begged you to save him." The elf shook his head and took a step closer, poking a clawed finger into the soft leather of Sebastian's jacket, "But that ridiculous notion of self-righteousness that all of you _Andrastians_ seem to possess made you want to play hero and find the little idiot without even telling anyone where you were going!"

Sebastian stood his ground, eyes narrowing into furious slits, "I'd scouted the tunnels before. I wasn't going in blind."

"Oh, so that's why you got captured by a squad of darkspawn, is it?" Fenris sneered, tilting his head to the side.

"They weren't there the first time I went through and I didn't think the boy would be so far in-" The archer stopped himself and then abruptly turned away from the elf, "I don't need to make excuses to you. You're right; I should have told everyone where I was going. I should have even asked someone to come with me. But you know why I didn't?" He turned his head back to glare at Fenris from over his shoulder, "Because Hawke was _resting_- as she has been busy the entire time we've been down in this Maker forsaken place trying to keep us fed, and _alive-_I figured she deserved a moment of peace. She didn't need another problem added on to everything else. And I didn't ask any of _you_ because I knew that none would agree to go. As it was not in your immediate _interests_." His fists clenched, "I decided to save a _boy_ that I did not even know, _because it was the right thing to do_. And I am _sorry_ that Hawke got hurt because of it!"

Fenris kept his cool glare firmly in place, "So to you, the life of our leader is equal to that of a mentally impaired dwarf, that it?"

"All of the Maker's children are equal in his eyes!" Sebastian rounded on the elf, exasperation coloring his furious features, "That is my belief. Which might I remind you, I do not force on any of you! I did not ask anyone to come and save me. That doesn't mean I'm not unspeakably grateful for it, but I still didn't expect it! I was willing to face the consequences of my reckless action; but Hawke came and saved me. I owe her my life, and it will be a _long_ time before I am able to repay that debt. So leave me in peace, and allow the one who I actually am indebted to, to pass judgment."

Fenris closed his mouth, and something in his glare lessened just slightly. Sebastian marched away from him, turning to sit stiffly down on his cot once more. The mug and bread went untouched as the priest glared into the fire. It was plain as day the struggles that warred across his features. The man was very angry, very guilty, and very worried about their friend- but he still tried to calm himself. Varric felt bad about how poorly it seemed to be going.

The camp was quiet after that, the others going back to their duties and pretending they didn't hear anything. Isabela sat by the fire with crossed legs, patching up a hole in one of her socks and picking at the thick tunic Hawke made her wear for the venture. Merrill was close by, blowing gently on a little reed flute that sent a soft little melody through the camp. Varric supposed it was her way of trying to restore the peace.

Fenris sat in his same spot next to his bed roll- preferring not to sleep inside due to the lessened reaction time- polishing his gauntlets and occasionally glancing up to take stock of the rest of them. The elf was still on edge, but not nearly as volatile as he'd been beforehand. He did not avoid Sebastian's spot, but he didn't linger on it as before. It almost seemed to be that he was mildly impressed with the man- which of course was nowhere near forgiving him, but at least it wasn't shouting at him.

A little while later, Anders crept out of Hawke's tent, followed by her Mabari, who sat dutifully at the door behind him- waiting for someone to return and care for his master.

Varric stood from his chair and set his pipe aside, "What's the news, Blondie?"

Anders glanced around camp, aware that everyone was now listening. He rubbed his temples and blinked his sleepless eyes a few times before shuffling over to Varric,

"Might I speak with you in private?"

Varric's brows furrowed, and at the look on the mage's face knew that something had happened. He stood and put an arm on Anders' back to guide him away from the others. They moved a distance from camp near the main tunnel and the dwarf crossed his arms, "What's going on?"

Anders sighed and shook his head like he was at a loss, "It seems…Well, I suppose the more important news is that she will wake up soon- and that we should be able to start moving in a few hours."

Varric's eyebrows shot up, "I thought she was going to need bed rest for a few more days? You pull some Justice healing mumbo jumbo out of your ass or what?"

The mage frowned at the Justice comment but continued regardless, "It wasn't me. That's the strange part. Merrill and I have been working hard, yes. But she is healing rapidly; more rapidly than I thought a human body capable of healing on its own. Even with our assistance." His eyes grew serious, "and that's when I felt it, just a few minutes ago."

"Felt what blondie? You know I'm not much for dramatic pauses." Varric drummed his fingers along his arm.

"…Someone _else's_ magic."

The dwarf blinked, then his features crumbled into confusion, "Sorry, _what_?"

"I don't know how, but someone else is healing her." Anders stated again, his eyes wide and thoroughly baffled, "Someone who is much more talented than me- cleaned up every little wound on the surface, and patched up the deeper stuff that should have taken longer to heal even with magical assistance."

All this magic talk went right over Varric's head, but as he leaned back against the cave wall for support one fact was very clear indeed; there was another mage in the picture. That must've been sneaking into their camp, or _something._ But that was impossible; Hawke had a blasted mabari at her side at all times, nothing could get past the thing. His second thought was Bethany; maybe the girl had snuck into the roads after them to keep watch over her sister. But that couldn't be true because someone would have noticed her by now; Sunshine was such a klutz she tripped over the air, much less the twisting turning darkspawn tunnels. Also, Hawke had mentioned that Bethany was a shoddy healer at best; nowhere near Blondie's skill, much less surpassing it. They kept tight security at all times and _surely_ Blondie or Daisy would have felt another presence by now. Of course Anders had undoubtedly thought of all these things too, probably much more in-depth with magical theory. But Varric had no answers, and he looked up at the other man with a blank expression,

"Well…what do you suggest we do about this?"

Anders splayed his hands out helplessly, "I have no idea. I've set up several magical wards around the camp to at least tell me if another presence is near. The most it's sensed is a far off darkspawn emissary. I have _absolutely_ no clue what to do. I mean- it's healing her, so I don't think it's a demon…maybe it's a spirit, like Justice?" He began trailing off musing to himself different little theories; each sounding more outrageous than the last. Finally Varric held up a hand to stop him,

"Okay- we keep this to ourselves. If Broody even gets a whiff of this, his paranoia will skyrocket to new and unimaginable heights. Things are already tense enough, we don't need more complications. Let's go back to camp."

Anders caught his arm as he began to walk, "Maybe you could take a look at her? Just in case there was something I missed?"

Varric gave him an incredulous look, "Blondie, you're the healer, not me."

"I know. But maybe just a second opinion?"

"That's what you have Daisy for."

"_Please, _Varric?"

With a groan, the dwarf reluctantly acquiesced, following after Anders on the way back into camp. The two received some strange looks from their comrades. Fenris especially, the elf jerked out of his seat when they arrived back, but Varric held up a hand. The warrior reluctantly resumed his seat, though the dwarf could tell that quite a few qunari brand insults were likely bubbling behind his teeth.

The mage held open the tent flap after Hawke's mabari moved aside, and Varric slouched inside. The tent was small even by dwarven standards; barely big enough for a bed roll and a half to fit inside. Anders scooted past him and sat behind Hawke's head, pressing his fingers gently to her temples and closing his eyes,

"See, it's gone now." He murmured, looking up at Varric.

The dwarf crossed his arms and sighed, "Well turn up the lantern and let me get a good look at her."

Anders made a gesture to the lamp beside him and the flame grew just a bit brighter for them. It illuminated the woman who appeared to be in a deep sleep . She really did look much better. Isabela and Merrill had given her a bath with the spring water they'd brought up to camp this morning, so her black hair was wiped away from her face and looking a little less mated and dirty than usual. She had more color in her skin, a sleepy flush in her cheeks that made her look prone to waking any moment,

"She's dreaming now, but she should wake in just a few minutes." The mage mumbled, as if predicting his line of thought.

That's when her lips began to twitch and move. For a moment they thought she might be waking up, though it appeared she was simply talking in her sleep. Both men leaned in to try and catch a few words, though most was unintelligible.

Anders leaned his head so far down that his forehead was nearly touching hers,

"I can't quite make out what she's-"

And it was in that moment when Hawke's eyes snapped open and she sat up in a panic, as she was known to do upon waking. Scared Varric half to death the first time he woke her from a drunken slumber sprawled across his dining table in the Hanged Man. It was also the moment that Fenris chose to poke his head through the door way and begin to demand to know what was going on.

Hawke's forehead slammed up into Anders' and they both jerked away from each other with the force of impact. Anders let out a yelp of surprise and fell back on his rump. And Hawke rolled over emitting a colorful batch of curses.

Fenris surveyed the scene which now included a dwarf roaring with laughter, turned around and with the first smile he'd donned in weeks strolled away from the tent,

"Hawke's awake."


	9. Let's Get Out of Here

**AN: Alright this chapter is pretty messy, I'll admit. And it might feel a bit rushed but hear me out; I have SO much planned for this story now and I just couldn't waste any more time in the blighted deep roads!**

**So enjoy! And let me know what you think,**

**-Ms.P**

"And you're sure that you don't need any healing?" Hawke waved Anders off, holding the dirty cloth over her nose. The man had been shadowing her ever since she woke up from being tossed around by that spider. Of course Bartrand's betrayal and the appearance of these profane things- _pain-in-the-ass things_ would be a better name for them, in Hawke's opinion- had done nothing to lessen the mage's already frayed nerves. But she wasn't made of glass.

"I promise; I'll be fine. I've broken my nose before- it's nothing I haven't dealt with. Though the burn scar might be a bit nasty."

"Right across your pretty nose, _Lady_ Hawke." Isabela smirked while she loaded what little space she had in her pack with the jewels and artifacts from the monster's horde. Thank the Maker Sebastian suggested bringing along extra rations before they left camp earlier that day- else the hike back up the surface would be filled with deafening tummy rumbles. Or starvation; however you wanted to look at it.

"I can deal with a scar," Hawke muttered, tossing a shiny looking clan pin into her pack, "I think it'll be my mother who's most upset. Take me down a few more pegs on the marriageable chart- past my "_murdering ways_" of course."

The pirate snorted, "I think your murdering ways will be a little upstaged by the heaps of gold and priceless artifacts you lug through the door."

"Point." The rogue tossed her a smile before examining an intricately carved statuette, jewels embedded up and down the sides. She grinned and shoved it in as well. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Varric slumped against the wall. He was doing his best to keep his expression angry; but Hawke saw the hurt there. He was thumbing a hunk of gold, turning it over in his fingers like he could shape it into something beautiful with just his will. Truthfully Hawke hadn't been all that surprised when Bartrand betrayed them; locking them in the Primeval thaig to presumably die down there, and waltz off with all the treasure for himself. Of course all the treasure they ended up finding made his stupid little idol pale in comparison. Unfortunately, gold wasn't usually enough to heal a broken heart.

Hawke pursed her lips and dabbed at her aching nose once more before making her way through the piles of gold to him,

"You know, with how incredibly rich you're going to be when we get home; you could coat Bianca in gold," she smiled, plucking the lump from between his fingers and flipping it in her hand, "It would cover up Melvin's teeth marks quite nicely." The mabari's head perked up across the way, a gold crown sitting sideways on it and Merrill giggling madly behind him.

Varric cracked a smile, but it was rather forced.

Hawke sighed and plopped down next to him, laying her back against the wall. The adrenaline of downing that monster had begun to wear off. Thankfully her only noticeable injury was the throbbing burn across her nose where one of the little profane minions to join the battle had gotten her with its burning whip. The force had broken her nose, making it even more crooked and unappealing than before- but at least she wasn't as bad off as poor Fenris, who they suspected had a broken rib that Anders was entirely too weak to heal. Everyone moved with increasing stiffness; trying to focus on the life changing discovery of the beast's horde, and forget about all their aches and pains. As well as the trying journey ahead.

Finally, Varric spoke without taking his eyes off of the gold piles, "Too many times have I had to see the worth of money over family." He took off a glove and cracked his fingers, examining the backs of his hands, "I should have seen it coming- the way he was acting and all- but I still thought…" Hawke feared for a moment that he would begin to sink into depression, but instead the little man finally looked up at her, warm eyes finally meeting his smile, "Turns out that I've just been depending too much on the _blood_ family. Thanks for saving my ass today, Hawke. I wouldn't have made it out of here if you hadn't pried me away from that door. Probably would have gotten eaten by darkspawn or some shit…"

She smacked his arm, earning a grunted chuckle, "Don't go getting all sappy on me, Varric," he could see the blush crawling across her cheeks as she scratched the back of her head, "You're the last person I want a gooey speech from."

The dwarf barked a laugh and turned to look back at the treasure. They fell into a companionable silence, watching their team mates gather up all the gold they could carry- and then some. Isabela especially seemed to be enjoying herself immensely. Though Merrill could be seen hunched over a pile of jewels, looking at them with big curious eyes, and turning her head about like a bird. Fenris however had chosen a few pieces and then sat down by the exit, clearly itching to leave.

Sebastian strolled among the treasure, his eyes hazy and a loose smile on his lips, occasionally running his fingers over the gold. He seemed to be lost in memories; one could only wonder what memories of gold a _priest_ would hold so dear.

"…_Maybe that's because I'm only pretending to be a priest …"_

Hawke flinched as the words swam up into her head. A blurry vision of the archer, in a splendid white vest with gold accents, and a flush across his cheeks flashed through her mind. When in the world had she seen him like that? Hawke wracked her brain for a moment…Summerday! Yes, she remembered now. She and Isabela had gotten fantastically drunk and Sebastian had to nearly carry the two of them back to Fenris's mansion. But beyond that it was so hazy, Hawke squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately to remember what happened.

Try as she might, nothing came to mind, accept those murmured words. His breath brushing against her cheek and a smile that was entirely too attractive stretching across his usually schooled features.

Hawke sprang up- well, more like scrambled up with the assistance of the wall- with an inquisitive look from Varric, and began to march towards the man in question.

Sebastian looked over as she approached, and tossed her a small smile, "This is splendid indeed. The Chantry will soon receive a rather shocking donation from an anonymous benefactor…" He chuckled, letting a pile of gold fall between his fingers. Though his head whipped back around when Hawke grabbed his arm and led him off through one of the little side tunnels. It led to a tiny treasure room that had chests stacked atop one another, all open and already rooted through for the best pieces.

"You're pretending." She said, looking at him with wide eyes, "I remember, you said you were! You're lying about who you really are."

She expected him to look shocked at her revelation, to see the color drain from his face and for him to start stammering excuses. But instead, he just looked tired. Sebastian's posture relaxed into one hand on his hip and one running through his hair. He let out a sigh, and stared at the floor for some time. He wasn't objecting, wasn't even trying to. The silence stretched on.

"You're right, of course. It was foolish of me to assume that you'd forget." He turned his gaze to the ceiling, "I just keep making mistakes around you."

Hawke crossed her arms, chewing on her words. She wanted to ask him so many questions; why was he pretending? Who was he really? Was Sebastian his real name? Why didn't he just tell her from the start? But instead, she simply stood there, bursting at the seams, and waited for him to speak.

In his own time, Sebastian found the things he needed to say. His endless blue eyes finally met hers and a tanned hand looked as though it would reach out and touch her, but it stayed firmly at his side,

"I am…not who you think. Of course by asking the right people- you could find out about my past quite easily." He looked down, "I was posing as an exile that was forced into the chantry by his parents for abhorrent behavior and disgracing the family. Of course; rumors had to be spread, people paid off, it was all such an elaborate ruse." He glanced away from her, "But it had to look real; it had to look like I would never come back, would never be a threat to the throne-"

"Wait, _throne_?" Hawke broke in, her eyes widening, "What throne? Hold on- does this mean you…you're…" she tried to wrap her head around it, but the words just wouldn't come out. Too much excitement today, too many head injuries. That was it.

"I'm a Vael, Marian. The heir to Starkhaven's throne." He put a hand on her shoulder to steady her, obviously concerned she wasn't taking this well.

Hawke stared at him for a moment, eyes wide and lips puckered into a tiny 'o'. She willed herself to respond, but the only sound that seemed to come out was,

"Ah, that's all?"

"…Isn't that enough?" He said, brows furrowing.

She snapped back to reality, "Why in the _hell_ did you not tell me this earlier?" Hawke threw her hands in the air, "I would have never, _never_ brought you down here! Oh sweet merciful Maker, you almost _died_ in that spider pit! If I hadn't…Andraste's ass, I would have ended a _dynasty_!"

Sebastian pressed closer, "Please keep your voice down, Marian. I don't want this getting around. As far as anyone knows I've severed my ties with Starkhaven and have a bitter hatred for the previous royal family."

Hawke stared at him in confusion, "Previous? You mean your parents? Now that you mention it- why is this fake? Why did you have to leave? What happened?"

He looked about to speak, but Fenris's voice echoed out through the tunnels,

"Hawke, Priest! We are getting ready to go! Let us be done with this place."

The use of his title made Hawke's mouth twist, and he looked at her with a helpless shrug. She made to turn and stomp away, but he caught her shoulder,

"Marian, please. I don't want to lose your trust in me. I know we won't be able to talk through this next week up, but as soon as we can get alone on the surface I swear I will tell you everything," His expression was earnest and pleading, and his hand slid down her arm to hold hers, "Please. You saved my life. And you are an amazing woman; your friendship is too important to lose over this _lie_ that has become my life."

Hawke blushed for the second time that day, and yanked her hand out of his, "What is it with everyone getting all mushy today?" She turned and began to stalk out of the room, "I will be waiting for that explanation, Sebastian. I won't forget this time."

* * *

The trip out of the tunnels was long, and tedious. They had no bed rolls to sleep in, and did not dare take off their armor when their eyes managed to drift shut; for fear of darkspawn jumping around the corner at any moment. Food was sparse at best, absent at worst. They'd only packed rations for a few days, and the trek was a week-long if the ancient signs posted along the dwarven roads were anything to go by.

The group cohesion that they'd formed so firmly on the way down was certainly taking a beating with the each bit of food that drained away, and every hour sleep that evaded them. Fenris snapped at anyone who said practically anything to him. Anders looked like he might fall over and die any time now- he was stretched to his limits with the constant darkspawn threat around them. Isabela was irritable to the point where she didn't even try to come on to any of them-that's when they _knew_ it was a problem. Varric of course was still silently furious about Bartrand, and that leaked out whenever he managed to open his mouth. Poor Merrill was doing her best not to complain, but they could all see that her claustrophobia was getting worse. Hawke doubted the girl slept more than an hour a night.

They got lost a few times. Ran into groups of darkspawn a few times. And had screaming matches a few times. Tempers flared, and on Merrill's part tears were shed. Hawke swore none of these people would ever talk to her again after they got out of this hellish place.

Although, however bad it got they all tried their very best to forge onward. No matter what got in their way, Hawke's rag tag group of companions never gave up, and never stopped. If one fell behind, they were picked up. There was even a point where Isabela was carried between Sebastian and Fenris. Hawke found herself lending Anders an arm more often than not, and also found that she really didn't mind.

This all reminded her in some skewed way of her family back home. Everyone just wanted to move forward, but they had to do it together. There were disagreements, there were tears, there was even some blood, but in the end they were going to get through it by the skin of their teeth because of the bonds they all shared. The words 'left behind' were never mentioned when one of their comrades lagged; because then this entire journey would have been for nothing.

Sebastian and Fenris were at odds for some time; the elf still not completely forgiving the archer for his reckless action, but even they put it aside to get out. Because they certainly couldn't do it alone.

It all made Hawke miss her family terribly- despite having her friends so close by.

As they neared the final stretch on the endless incline that'd been the last two days of the journey, Hawke found that all she could think about was her mother, her brother and sister, her uncle, and her baby. She wanted to hold Hugo in her arms and never let go. She wanted to lie in front of the fire while her mother ran her fingers through her hair. She wanted Beth and Carver to bicker as they always did. Even Uncle Gamlen trying his best to be grumpy, and failing miserably would be a welcome sight.

"Hawke?"

She looked over at Varric, who stood right beside her, his hand outstretched. Those gloved fingers touched a heavy stone door in front of them. It looked very old and rarely touched; carvings of the ancient dwarven civilizations all over it. Varric looked tired, and hungry, and irritated, but he still smiled. Hawke smiled too, putting her hand next to his,

"Let's go home."

Together, they pushed open the ancient door, beams of moonlight instantly shooting in between the crack. As it widened, they had to cover their eyes; even that dull glow was much more than the sparse magelight they'd been traveling by through some of the less frequented tunnels.

But soon, the door was opened all the way and they were greeted with an endless sky, nearly bursting with stars. The glittering lights stretched across the expanse like thousands and thousands of jewels. The moon sat at their center, huge and beautiful and glorious. Sparse clouds drifted around, just little wisps to accent the splendor which coated the land in a darkened sheet.

In the distance, shining like a beacon was Kirkwall. It perched on the edge of the land, just about to fall into the impossibly dark sea. Hundreds of little lights flickered in the city and made it light up like the North star; guiding them home.

Hawke had to cover her mouth to restrain her gasp, as tears pricked her eyes. Almost a month down in that awful place, and now a week to get back. But it would all be worth it; because she had something never possessed. She had coin, coin to protect Bethany, to buy mother's house back, to placate Carver, and to raise her baby with. It had all been worth it, all of it.

The rogue fell to her knees and looked up at the stars, the tears sliding down her cheeks,

"Father, Garret. I _did_ it, I _really_ actually managed to do something good without mucking it up." She laughed as the breaths came harder, and the tears came faster. She could almost see her father and brother smiling down at her; proud that she still tried to protect their family when they no longer could.

"Come on, Hawke. You can speak with dead relatives later…" Varric chuckled, though she could see his eyes were wet. He looped an arm through hers and pulled her to her feet.

"It's a long walk home, so we'd better get started."


	10. Home

**AN: Heh, wow, quick update I know. **

**But this chapter was such a _joy_ to write that I got it done without many hindrances. Things will be less fighty here for a while and a little more domestic, which I am exponentially more comfortable with writing. Nice change of pace.**

**Anywho, please enjoy this chapter, and let me know what you think!**

**-Ms.P**

* * *

They had never been so happy to smell Lowtown smog.

Fenris and Anders parted from them at the gate; eager to hide their riches in their respective hovels and topple into their own beds. Sebastian walked them to the suspension bridge that would lead to the main street of Lowtown. Once there he bowed quite formally and kissed Hawke's hand, promising to see her soon and explain all. Isabela, Varric, and Merrill trailed after Hawke as they shouldered their way through the Lowtown masses; clutching their packs close to their chests with all the precious cargo inside. Once they approached the Hanged Man, it was agreed that Hawke and Merrill would leave their treasure with Varric as neither of them had very dependable hiding spots in their less than secure homes. They helped lug the cumbersome things up to Varric's suite and tossed them in a hidden closet behind a removable portion of the wall. The dwarf promised to help them get their finances in order soon; they all just needed some time to rest and relax at home. A date was set for a gathering in the tavern; letters would be sent to the other members of their team- excluding Fenris who they knew could not read, he would get a messenger that was hopefully not slain on sight when knocking on his door.

Isabela wrapped Hawke up in a very busty embrace and planted a kiss right on her lips, a thank you for the funds to buy several ships, if she so chose. Varric gave Hawke a tired smile, but immediately set about readying a bath- before she'd even left the room, making her laugh all the way out the door. Hawke supposed modesty was a thing lost when you spend a month with someone in tight quarters.

She and Merrill walked through the Lowtown streets feeling lighter than they had in weeks without the oppressive bags slung across their shoulders. The elf couldn't stop looking at the sky, and smiling each time the sun peeked out from behind the thick foundry clouds. They parted ways on Hawke's street, the little mage making her way down to the alienage to greet her friends and presumably have a feast celebrating her return.

That left only Hawke and Melvin, standing near the stairs that would lead up to Gamlen's apartment. The mabari dutifully planted himself at Hawke's feet, tilting his head up at his mistress as she took it all in. Everything was so familiar, and yet it seemed like years since Hawke had seen the place. There were potted plants sitting all around the landing, the bright flowers still in bloom under the late Bloomingtide sun. Her mother's touch was everywhere; the freshly painted door and window sills, the woven mat outside the entrance, and the repairs on the roof that she'd undoubtedly commanded Carver to perform.

With a start, Hawke realized she could hear voices drifting out of the open window past the billowing curtains. Fear suddenly surged in her at the musical tones of her mother as she spoke to someone else. The rogue stayed rooted to the spot, so unsure of herself now that she stood so close to home. How would her mother treat her? Would she still only see a monster where she once thought her daughter to be? Would the gold be enough?

Well, if it wasn't, Hawke would just take Hugo and go. She would have the money delivered to her family while she stayed at Fenris's house with her son. Her mother could still buy the Amell estate and Hawke would leave Kirkwall so as to make sure that the woman wouldn't have to risk seeing her. Maybe go to Starkhaven, or Ostwick. Yes, that was it. She would just walk up the stairs, go in, say what she had to and leave. Though that was just the coward in her talking. She could face down a giant spider and a demonic dwarven monster, but Maker forbid she try and patch things up with Mum.

With a gulp, Hawke put one foot on the bottom stair, glancing up at the window, then back down at her feet. She took another step. The whole batch of steps went about that slow, until she finally stood on the landing, staring at the cheerily painted doorway, and the woven mat which she could only assume her mother made herself.

One hand came up in trepidation, and she cursed herself. Keep calm and this will be easy, just let her know you're alive. But maybe just a letter would do? No! You're already here; just knock on the bloody door so you can at least get your things and your son! She can't keep him from you now!

Three sharp raps on the door were all Hawke could take; each one physically jarred her. Once she was done she skittered backwards, standing by the stairs and staring at her feet like they were the most interesting things in all Thedas.

"Hello, who is-"

The door opened and Hawke's head snapped up at the unfamiliar voice. A woman stood there, young and quite beautiful. She had light blonde hair wrapped up into a bun atop her head, and honey colored eyes to match. She wore a simple cotton dress and an apron covered in the flour that also coated her hands. Of course the poor girl was looking at Hawke like she was the Arishok come to ask if they'd like to hear about the certainty of the Qun. Couldn't blame her; Hawke looked a mess. Her hair was slicked away from her face with only the aid of grease, blood, and dirt to keep it there. Her face was swollen with her broken nose and the nasty scar across it was bright red with infection. She was _covered_ in mud and soot, her armor torn and repaired shoddily in several places, with no small amount of blood stains. And she was armed to the teeth.

"Wait, I'm not a bandit!" Hawke shouted as the woman made to slam the door, shoving her boot in to keep it open.

"My name is Haw- Marian! My name is Marian and my mother and family live here! I've…I've just come to get my things! Please; you're crushing my foot."

The woman paused in her frantic closing of the door, looking like she might say something. Though the entry way was suddenly filled with all six and a half feet of her bear like brother. Carver had a kitchen knife in his hand and a hand protectively placed on the woman's shoulder, his face angry and questioning- until his eyes landed on Hawke.

The knife clattered to the floor. He stumbled back away from the entrance like he'd seen a ghost, barely catching himself on a nearby table. The woman stumbled after him, putting an arm around his shoulders. Carver's haunted blue eyes so like her own, raced all around Hawke's form.

"You…you were _dead_…" He whispered, his face several shades paler, "We…we got a note, from that Tethras man…you and your group perished…in the roads…The bloody funeral is next week!"

Hawke really should have suspected that, Bartrand would need to cover up the deaths of the missing people on the Expedition, so of _course_ her family would have been notified.

"Well." She scratched the back of her head, "I'm uh…not dead. Bartrand betrayed us and locked us in an abandoned thaig." Alarm flashed across Carver's features so Hawke quickly continued, "needless to say, we got out. Uhm, could I maybe come in? I've been walking for two straight weeks and sitting would be very nice-" she stopped, and her brows furrowed, "Unless I'm not allowed-"

She couldn't continue speaking because Carver had suddenly charged her. He grabbed his sister up into his arms, off the floor and spun around,

"_Maker's breath_," He gasped into her hair, "I thought you were _dead_. I thought you were dead; and the last thing I said to you was _good riddance_." She could feel the wetness against her cheek as he held her, shuddering, "Marian I'm so sorry. I _love_ you so much, I'm _so sorry_."

Hawke gasped as he held her tighter, her feet still not touching the ground. She was glad for his arms around her; else she would have fallen apart right there. She managed to keep the tears in against the flood of happiness that surged through her. All that pain and darkness was swept away by words that Carver hadn't said to her since Father died. She wrapped her arms around him too, burying her head in his shoulder,

"It's alright Carver. I love you too baby brother." She mumbled, holding him tight.

Their reunion was interrupted, however, but the sound of pottery crashing to the ground.

Hawke looked up to see Bethany, and Leandra standing in the doorway to their tiny kitchen. Bethany was already full out sobbing, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands and desperately trying to stem the flow of fluids from every port on her face. Leandra had a hand over her mouth, the broken plate at her feet entirely forgotten. Her eyes were huge and watery, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

Carver set Hawke down, stepping away towards the blonde woman while wiping his eyes and casting an embarrassed glance around the room. Though he couldn't keep the trembling smile off his face.

"Mother," Hawke hastily wiped her face, wincing as she accidentally hit her nose, "I was successful! I found all this treasure, I mean- it's at Varric's right now, but it's _so_ much," she stumbled over her words, shaking like a leaf and sincerely doubting her ability to keep standing for much longer, "We found piles of artifacts and jewels and gold- we can buy the Estate back, and we can get you all the dresses you could want- or I mean, you could buy them- I'm sending basically all of the money to you; I only need enough to raise Hugo comfortably," she was babbling now, her eyes glued to the floor. Tears were running down her dirty cheeks and she could feel the scab on her nose had broken, and a trickle of blood ran into her mouth.

"G-Gamlen can have a room, and Carver could get his own forge; he's so good at smithing, after all." she choked out, watching as her mother began to step closer to her, "Bethany could even have her own little garden out back- Beth likes f-flowers so much," Leandra stood just before her daughter now, balling up a clean rag and dabbing at the blood coming from her nose, "a-and you could have a sewing room..and…and…" Hawke dissolved into sobs, falling into her mother's arms.

Leandra wrapped her arms gently around her daughter, holding her up as she cried. Her own eyes were wet and a few little tears escaped. But she was smiling, as such warmth, and relief filled her. Her mother swayed back and forth slowly as she held her, just as she'd always done since Hawke was a little girl. A hand ran through her disgusting hair, not minding the filth, and the other rubbed slow circles on her back,

"Hush now, love." She said softly, "let's get you a bath, and something to eat. Then we will talk about your journey." She pulled away and held her daughter's dirty face in her smooth, aged hands, "I am so, so proud of you. You have always worked _so_ hard to protect and provide for this family; like your father did. I just couldn't see it." She smiled sadly as Hawke broke into a fresh batch of sobs, "You are such a _smart_, and _brave_ woman, my sweet Marian. I love you so much, and I am so glad you are back home; where you belong."

After some time-and a very wet hug with Bethany that lasted for several minutes with both women spouting nonsense through their tears- Hawke managed to compose herself. Gamlen was in the kitchen claiming that something had gotten in his eyes and he was trying to wash it out- but gave her a bone crushing hug and an awkward pat on the back nonetheless. The woman was introduced as Narri, Carver's betrothed. That was a shock, to say the least. But it was something Hawke would have to hear about another time. She immediately asked to see Hugo; but Leandra assured her he was sleeping, and before Hawke was getting anywhere near him she was to clean off all the blood and dirt and whatever else she might have picked up in the roads.

So an hour or so later after having appreciated a bath like never before, and getting her nose bandaged properly, Hawke was allowed into Leandra and Gamlen's room. In the corner, next to the window where the suns light shone in through the thin drapes, was Hugo's crib. The wolf pelt blanket was big enough that it overflowed the edges, along with several other soft cotton quilts and pillows packed in.

Hawke padded softly over to the crib, after shutting the door behind her. She wore a loose white tunic with soft leggings on underneath and allowed her feet to be bare for the first time in what seemed like forever. Her hair was tied back from her face in a nubby ponytail, so it didn't get in her eyes when she leaned over to look at the sleeping baby.

He was on his back with his arms and legs splayed out in every direction as was his habit. His little face was slack as he dreamed; ruddy cheeks, button nose, dark lashes, rose petal lips, and curly bronze hair that wound in tight ringlets around his head. Hawke had to lean against the crib to keep standing. The fatigue that piled up through the trip overtook her at the sight of her perfect, beautiful baby.

Hesitantly, she reached in and slid her hands underneath him. Hugo was lifted up into her arms with one of his blankets wrapped around him. She positioned him gently and tilted her head to look at him, her eyes already puffy and red from crying so much that day began to water again. He fit just right in her arms, like he'd been made for her. Such a heavy sleeper; the baby didn't even stir while she rocked him.

Oh, how she'd missed this. The battlefield, killing, drinking, negotiating, stealing, saving, it was all pushed to the back of her mind as the little perfect thing in her arms became the center of her whole world. Now she wouldn't ever have to leave him again. Now he would grow up with all the comfort and happiness she could give him.

"Sweet…sweet baby…" she murmured, tilting her head down to touch his, smelling the sweetness of his skin. He woke at that, his eyes fluttering open slowly. The deep grey blue orbs stared back at her, seeming to be surprised for a moment- before a smile lit up his features. Hugo giggled and reached his hands up to her cheeks, patting them. Marian laughed, nuzzling her nose against his and listening to the sweet little coos he made against her cheek.

There was a knock on the door, and she turned around with a stupid smile still plastered across her face and Hugo giggling in her arms,

"Mother's got some food ready for you, sister." Bethany said, giving her sister a smile that would stretch on and on for miles. Marian always thought Bethany and Garret had the same smile- it reminded her of him. She looked down at Hugo,

"Shall we go get a snack, my little lovely one, hm?" Hugo laughed and wiggled about in her arms. Marian grinned and held him close before following after Bethany. Out in the main room of the apartment the family was gathered around the table.

Leandra patted the seat next to her, and her daughter carefully sat, positioning Hugo in her lap before looking up. Everyone was staring at her expectantly- as the only food was in front of her spot. Oddly enough, it was Gamlen who spoke first,

"I think we'd all like to know what happened to your face." He said, motioning to his own nose. Leandra swatted him for the way he said it, and Marian chuckled,

"Oh, I have quite the tale to tell, don't you worry."


	11. Full House

**AN: It has been a little too long between updates for my liking. This chapter gave me some trouble, it sets up SO MUCH that it was difficult to pack it all in to a readable format. **

**I know this story has a bit of a problem with jumping around and unexplained time skips, but that's mainly due to my hatred for Act 1. Probably just because I've played through it SO many times that I can't even stand to write it anymore. **

**But rest assured; there is entirely too much drama and excitement for me to do the same with Act 2. The time skips will be down to the days and possible week this time, and hopefully should aid in the story's continuity just a tad more. **

**So I hope you enjoy this chapter, and the little homey touches I've added to the architecture of the second act. Be warned; it's still gonna get just as crazy as in the game, I'm simply changing a few things around.**

**-Ms.P**

* * *

_My dearest Marian, _

_Firstly I would like to express my sincerest apologies in regards to the length of time allowed to pass since my last letter._

_I'm getting very close to the head of Flint Company - weeding out each shadowy arm of the organization until I'm able to draw this "Lumon" out of hiding. I recently got a tip that the man may have caught wind of my investigations and has fled to Ostwick. Thus I write you only hours before I begin the journey there myself._

_If my luck continues to hold, and the information I'm given is good, the man should be slain by the end of the month. I know this is just petty revenge for a job that he was paid to do by a third party; but it doesn't change the fact that it was his blade which slit my mother's throat. Hopefully he will be able to give me information that leads me closer to his patron before his death; I won't be terribly upset if it doesn't happen. My agents have already unearthed several rather damning pieces of evidence against a suspect family. Please don't worry about me, I am being quite discrete with my identity, I live under an alias and cover my face wherever I go; no one suspects that I've even left Kirkwall. I get closer every day, Marian. Soon it will all be over and I can begin the campaign to gather allies to retake my throne. _

_You mentioned something in your last letter about the continued presence of Qunari in Kirkwall. This is grave news indeed. As you requested, I've done no small amount of research on the giants in my travels. You will not like what I've found. _

_The Arishok is not a common general, Marian. He is __**the**__ General. The Qunari are ruled by a triumvirate, three bodies of government divided by purpose. The Arishok is the leader and highest ranking general of The Antaam, the military branch of the Qunari peoples. He controls the entire body of Par Vollen in regards to conquest and war. And he has been squatting by the docks of Kirkwall for four years. He has mentioned something of a relic he searches for, but that cannot honestly be the only reason he stays. What I am trying to say is this; be careful Marian, nothing good can come from his presence. _

_On that note; you said in your last letter that Merrill and Anders are living with you now. You know I'm concerned; you have a blood mage in your garden house and an abomination (for lack of a cleaner term to make my point) in your cellar. I know I can't change your mind, but I do urge you to be cautious with how comfortable you become with this. Just because your sister in law is the Knight Commander's niece does not mean you should let your guard down. If you are found sheltering such apostates I beg you to consider the consequences for the rest of your family never mind just yourself. _

_I suppose I should stop nagging now, though that does not give you permission to ignore my advice! _

_I understand I've missed little Hugo's fourth name day. Rest assured; I've gotten him a wonderful gift. That obviously doesn't excuse my absence, but may aid in procuring your forgiveness upon my return. It is a dagger, commissioned especially for the boy during my stay in Starkhaven. The pommel is brown leather bound with lengths of red dyed twine. At the base of the hilt I've taken the liberty of having the Royal crest of Starkhaven as well as the Hawke family crest etched in. For his sake, I hope the weapon stays ornamental. But should the need arise it would let me sleep more soundly if Hugo has something to defend himself with as he grows up in these tumultuous times. _

_I hate to cut this letter so short, but it looks as though my guard has readied the horses; the road to Ostwick- and hopefully Kirkwall- lies ahead. I will have my swiftest courier bring this letter to you with all haste. If you'll allow him to stay the night - he knows of my location and could carry your correspondence back in a timely manner. _

_Please give my regards to Lady Leandra, Miss Bethany, Ser Carver, Miss Narri along with little Chadwick and Rufus, and Uncle Gamlen, if he will take them. _

_And of course send all my love to sweet Hugo, with a promise that upon my return I shall take him riding on Snowbelle all the way up Sundermount. _

_Marian, please don't do anything reckless before I get back as I miss you severely enough without constantly worrying for your safety,_

_Looking forward to tea in the garden,_

_-Sebastian_

* * *

"Sebastian says he is very sorry for missing your birthday, love." Hawke glanced up from the parchment.

The lump under the covers grunted at her and wormed further down the bed. She chuckled and looked back at the letter, giving the Qunari part another read over, then folding it closed with a sigh and setting it gently on her desk; on top of a sizable pile, all written in the same neat, slanting script.

"He is coming back soon, and he has a gift for you." She went over to the bed and sat on the edge, patting the lump. It grunted at her again and shifted away. Hawke had to work not to laugh. She pushed a few stands of her shoulder length hair from her face and leaned over, gathering the lump up onto her arms. It squealed and kicked around but she eventually yanked it out from under the blankets.

A wild mass of auburn curls broke into the sunlit room, with a set of bright blue eyes peeking out from underneath it. Hugo laughed and squirmed while his mother tickled the fight out of him. His freckled cheeks were rosy with mirth, and lanky little arms swung around as he battled her. They rolled around and eventually collapsed into a heap up by the pillows. He lay across her stomach, playing with the amulet around his neck. It was bound on a simple leather chord and shaped as a perfect oval out of silver. On it was written the initials of all his loved ones, crammed on to the little disk to always remind him of those who cared about him. He looked at the initials up at the very top,

"Fenris says these two letters mean 'M, and H' that's your name mama? Marian Hawke?"

She smiled and ran her fingers though his silky ringlets, "Yes love, why do you ask?"

"Well, everyone calls you _Hawke_, all the people that come to see you. Why's that?"

"Because that's the name mommy usually goes by. Sounds cooler than silly old 'Marian'." She grinned at him when he giggled and pulled him up to nuzzle against her shoulder.

"Once Fenris teaches you all of your letters, Gran will start both of your lessons in the big books downstairs. Won't that be fun?"

"I thought Fenris could read already." He mused, turning the pendant over in his fingers to examine all the little etchings.

"Oh he can, he's only been learning a little longer than you sweet heart. But Gran says it's time for her to start teaching the both of you." Hawke blew a stray hair out of her eyes, "apparently I'm not doing a good enough job."

They were interrupted when aforementioned elf poked his head into the bed room.

"Ah, Fenris, we were just talking about you." Hawke smiled and sat up. She had to hold in a bout of laughter at the mess that was his hair. It went down past his shoulders in disorganized waves, and almost covered his eyes completely though he kept trying to haphazardly wipe it away. She put a hand over her mouth and waved the other,

"Oh, come over here, you oaf."

He stumbled over to the bed and plopped down next to her. He wore loose breeches that only reached his knees and a sleeveless tunic with no shoes, he scratched at his uncommonly bare leg as he spoke,

"Everything is ready to go, Hawke. We are just waiting for the others to get here now."

"And for me to braid your hair, obviously."

"Try as I might; it would not cooperate this morning." He grumped, crossing his arms and glancing back at Hugo, who still messed about with the necklace. Hawke sighed and began to braid the thick white locks, pulling them tight as she crossed them over each other. He sat straight backed and wouldn't allow his head to move an inch, having learned the consequences of disrupting her meticulous process long ago. Though when Hugo crawled over and showed him the amulet, he did his best to look down at it without turning his chin,

"Fenris, what's this one on the side, I know the 'H' at the end, but not that first one…"

"That is an 'A', little Hawke."

"Oh…So, A, H…" Hugo sat for a moment, stumped. Fenris winced as Hawke jerked his head back for turning to look at the boy. The child didn't seem to notice, as realization donned across his features,

"Aveline Hendyr!"

"Well done, love. You're getting so good at that." Hawke said dreamily as she neared the end of the braid, accepting the leather string to tie it off as it was handed to her, "You know, Fenris. Merrill is much better at this-"

"It's enough that I have to deal with her insistent prattling on a daily basis; she'll not be touching my hair as well."

Hawke gave him a sly grin, "You know you enjoy the attention."

Fenris only grunted in response, and stood from the bed when Hawke finished tying the string. Hugo scrambled after him, and launched himself forward. With his usual lightning reflexes; Fenris spun around and caught the boy midair. He swung him up onto his broad shoulders, allowing a small smile at the peals of laughter pouring forth from his passenger.

"Well, I suppose we will go wait by the hearth while you collect the mages. Don't be long. The others should be here any moment now."

With that the elf strode from the room with Hugo whooping from his shoulders.

Hawke sat on the bed a moment longer and sighed, with a smile. That little boy was so full of energy; it was hard to keep up sometimes. But Fenris had the right amount of patience to deal with him, and keep him entertained while Hawke collected herself. The elf practically lived at the Amell mansion; he spent so much time in the library desperately trying to decipher the books. He had such a thirst for knowledge; it was rather endearing. Especially when Hawke would find him asleep on a pile of cushions by the fire with one of the bound tomes still open in his lap. She made sure to cover him up and set a goblet of water nearby for when he woke up all dried out from the proximity of the flames in the morning.

Plus it wasn't like there was much to do at his spacious estate besides keep it obsessively clean. If the elf wasn't sleeping, or at Hawke's house he was usually prowling along the wounded coast or Sundermount. He liked the freedom of the wilds and could be gone for days on end. Hawke assumed he kept a wary eye out for raiders and bandits, to make Aveline's job a little easier. The guard Captain, after all, had given Fenris quite the priceless bit of information after clearing out a slaver den along the coast.

Almost a year and a half ago, a magister had come at Danarius's behest to recapture Fenris. A lone patrol had spied a few of the slavers with kidnapped alienage citizens trying to sneak back up to the caves. Aveline sent out a full squadron and cleared the place out. A vanguard of Templars accompanied them at the rumors of blood magic. Good thing too, apparently Magister Hadrianna was a right nasty piece of work. Though Aveline did get a few secrets out of her when the mage mentioned a bright haired elf. Fenris had a sister, a live sister. And now he knew where to look for her.

The elf had instantly gone to Varric and now the two were working together with Isabela to try and find this 'Varania'.

Of course after everything settled down, Fenris was livid. He was angry about everything; his past, his present, his future. The elf refused to speak to anyone, even Hawke. He locked himself up in his mansion and only went downhill from there. Fenris tore the place up, smashing everything in sight and drinking himself into oblivion for _days_. Hawke, Merrill, and Anders worked constantly to keep attention off his mansion with silencing spells and diversions.

Though after a week, it got a bit tedious. Hawke marched up to the mansion intending to give Fenris a piece of her mind about the all mighty bitch-fit he was throwing; only to find the place cleaned up, and missing it's occupant. She'd searched all around for him, but he was nowhere to be found. Though by the state of the place he must've been cleaning for several days. She figured he'd wandered off to the coast as he was apt to do.

When Hawke arrived back at her newly purchased estate, she was surprised to see the very man she'd searched for sitting in her library.

He was hunched over a book, with Hugo sitting next to him, and Leandra on his other side. It was a book of fairy tales, and Leandra was guiding him through the words. She described the letters and the sounds they made, pointing to each new sentence and praising him when he recognized a word. The elf had been trying to teach himself, Hawke knew, but she'd never expected him to accept help. When Leandra spotted her by the door she was thrown a knowing smile. Her mother rose and guided Hawke to sit next to the struggling elf in her place. If Fenris was affected by the change, he said nothing. Hawke was confused to say the least, but she began helping him again anyways.

That's when she noticed his free hand was holding Hugo's small one, and the tears dripping down his tanned cheeks.

Since then, Fenris had been part of their family. No questions asked.

The family had been growing quite a lot; what with the two new additions of the magical nature that were hiding out around the estate. When Leandra had been introduced to Hawke's friends at the meeting after the Expedition, she was appalled at the base conditions the poor mages were forced to live in. She practically forced Anders into the cellar, claiming that there would be more than enough space for all his books, papers, potions, and a proper bed. Not to mention that it would be an easy access to his clinic without the fear of being apprehended by the Templars when he managed to drift into a paranoid sleep.

Lady Amell fell in love with Merrill the moment she saw her; completely taken with those big green eyes and meek little way the elf had about her. Hawke sensed the 'adopted daughter' syndrome coming on fast. Leandra was horrified at the state of her little hut in the alienage, and offered her a 'job' as their gardener up in Hightown. A quaint little cottage was built out in the gardens, which quickly became the finest in all of Hightown, surpassing even the Viscounts. It was as if the plants were listening to the whims of the one who tended them, and grew bigger and healthier than they could on their own.

Merrill of course was ecstatic. She hated living alone down in the alienage, even if the elves there were 'quite friendly, all things considered'. The only condition was this; Merrill was not to use blood magic on the grounds of the estate. If she absolutely had to, she would leave Kirkwall and do it out on the coast or Sundermount where no one could be hurt by it. The little elven girl was more than happy to comply if it meant having a family again. Every night she would help Leandra and Bethany with dinner, and then sit around the fire with all the Hawkes, laughing and telling stories. It was heaven for someone who had been deprived of that closeness for so long.

They had quite the full house; Gamlen had a loft upstairs all to himself, with a study and everything to get his merchant trade off the ground again. Hawke had a set of rooms for her and Hugo near the front of the house. Bethany had a room just next to her sister. Leandra had the master chambers where her parents had once slept, with a balcony overlooking the beautiful gardens. They kept no servants, other than Bodahnn Feddic and his son, Sandal. The dwarf claimed to be in Hawke's deepest debt after the rescue of his son and insisted on working for her. At first it was to be without pay, but Hawke would not tolerate it and forced a weekly salary on him. He and his son had their own room just behind the kitchens. They also had a set of spare rooms for when Isabela was in town. She much preferred Hawke's plush mansion over her old accommodations in the Hanged man.

Needless to say it was a rather rowdy dinner table, especially when Carver and his family came over. Which was nearly every night.

"Sister, are you going to be all day, or were we actually planning to go to the spring before my hair greys and Beth's teeth fall out?"

Hawke's head snapped up at the sound of her brother's voice. Carver stood in the door way, his burly arms stretched easily across the space. He'd changed much over the last three years, in more ways than one. His hair was cropped close to his head, preferring this military style over those long boyish locks he'd worn in Ferelden. He sported a rather impressive beard that he kept well groomed and clean, and had finally grown into those ears of his. Over all, the man looked well beyond his meager twenty two years; the wedding band on his finger sealed the deal.

Also the two slumbering black haired toddlers in slings across his chest, those kind of solidified the 'papa bear' look.

Chadwick and Rufus both had the ridiculously thick and unruly Hawke hair; black as night and impossible to do anything with -Hawke counted herself lucky to have the silky Amell hair. Their cheeks were ruddy, and they were ten times the 'twin' Carver and Bethany had been. Their first word was 'papa' as they did everything together and nearly at the same time. If you tried to separate them they would cry. Loudly.

Thankfully they liked to sleep, a lot.

"Ah brother dear, I was just thinking about you." Hawke chuckled and rose from the bed, tugging at her short sand colored robe, "and yes, I am ready to go. I simply got lost in my thoughts…"

Carver watched her for a moment, noting the deep circles under her eyes, and the pale-well, paler than usual- color to her skin. He put his calloused hands on his hips,

"Sister. You look awful."

"Oh, stop. You'll make me blush." She said without humor.

"I mean it." He stepped closer to her, looking down as he put a hand against her forehead, "You've been getting worse this past year. Mother told me she wants to call a physician-"

Hawke barked a laugh and swatted his hand away, "We have Anders living in our basement and she wants to call a healer? Ha! Mother gets more ridiculous as the years pass by."

She squeezed past him into the hallway that would lead downstairs where everyone was presumably waiting. She knew that she'd spent a little too long thinking, but truly not _that_ much time could have passed…could it?

"Mary." Carver's hand caught her shoulder, and his boulder like constitution kept her from taking another step, "Is it the dreams, still?"

Hawke's mouth stretched into a hard line, though she kept her back to him and voice light, "No, those stopped quite some time ago," they plagued her every night, "I feel fine!" she felt like she was slowly being drained away to nothing.

Carver held her there for a moment. He let the seconds tick by, and readied himself for an ultimatum, but was interrupted before he could get the chance to deliver it,

"Carver dear? Have you- Ah, Marian, there you are, love!"

Narrithia Hawke -formerly Stannard- came up the last few stairs to greet them. Her loveliness was a continual shock to Hawke; mainly because she couldn't believe someone related to the frigid bitch of a Knight Commander could be so kind and beautiful- but also because she had yet to figure out how the ass she called brother managed to win her affections.

The woman's blonde hair was done up into a bun, as was its usual style. And she wore a loose robe quite similar to Hawke's. Though the difference was found in the fact that Hawke wore hers with the intention of taking it off to swim, while Narri had to have the light garment to accommodate her swollen belly. They could only pray to the Maker that it was just…large, and not another set of twins.

"Sister dear!" Hawke put on her best smile and wrapped her arms around the woman. Narri's hugs were the best; warm and soft and happy, just like the woman herself, "Sorry I've taken so long, my hair simply would not cooperate!"

The woman gave her a strange look, after glancing at Carver, but smiled nonetheless, "Dear you're going to be _swimming_, what in Thedas would the look of your hair have to do with it?"

Hawke waved her off and began to go down the stairs, "Well we will be going past all those pompous nobles that inhabit this infernal city; don't want to give them _more_ to gossip about."

The common room of the estate was packed quite full.

It was a rare time that all Hawke's companions were in town at once-except Sebastian, but there was nothing they could do about that at the moment- so Hawke had to take this opportunity to get everyone together again.

Varric and Isabela were huddled by Hawke's writing desk, rooting through her letters no doubt. Too bad anything of interest was now delivered straight up to Hawke's chambers. She'd learned to do this rather quickly after much of her important or private mail showed up previously opened. Merrill stood with Leandra and Gamlen, who were fretting about the crate of food they were bringing with them for meals, and the right amount of blankets should the summer nights become unseasonably cold. The elf was doing her best to placate the fretting woman; assuring her that out of the three mages going with them on the little trip at least one of them would be able to keep the campsite warm for the night.

Anders stood with Bethany at the window, probably going over his latest manifesto. Beth had become rather enamored with the man and his cause. She even chopped off her beautiful hair, and _bleached_ it. Both Hawke and Leandra threw the grandest fit of the age when Beth showed up like that. The girl spent any time she wasn't in the garden or Apothecary's shop with Anders down in his clinic or cellar. She was becoming quite the little activist; too bad Anders preferred men and would never notice her advances. Poor thing, Hawke just didn't have the heart to tell her.

Aveline and Donnic stood with Fenris and Hugo. Hugo was leaning down from Fenris's shoulders as he waved to little Joan. The fiery haired baby would have nothing to do with him, though. She turned her owlish brown gaze elsewhere as her tiny hands grabbed at the ceiling.

Hawke smiled around at all her friends and family, feeling peacefulness rise up and squeeze her chest at the sight. Though in the back of her mind she felt that oppressive presence that'd been terrorizing her dreams. It pushed against the barriers of her mind, desperately trying to claw its way in. Her smile faltered a bit as she put a hand on her head. But shook it off before Carver could even narrow his eyes,

"Alright everyone! Let's get this show on the road; the Pale Blossom Spring awaits us!"

Hugo snapped his head up at his mother's voice and threw his hands in the air, "Swimmin' time!"

The room erupted with laughter, and the large party began collecting their things. Soon they'd be on their way towards two days of camping and fun; the perfect way to end the month of Solace, and the hottest summer seen in at least a decade.


	12. Pale Blossom Spring

"_Melvin?" Marian turned round and round, the scenery blurring and twisting. She couldn't find him. He was gone. But the mabari had been gone for nearly a week now; why was it suddenly so upsetting?_

"_Melvin!" she screamed till her voice was hoarse and then felt hot tears running down her cheeks. She shouted and wailed for what seemed like hours, till she realized it wasn't really Melvin's name she was calling anymore._

_Marian dabbed at her face and looked at her wet fingers in surprise. The dream wrenched off its axis and her thoughts scattered. Why was she crying? She didn't feel like crying. But what had she even been thinking about? It took her a moment, and the answer swam up into her jumbled thoughts. The dog, but it wasn't really the dog. It was something else entirely. She'd call it the dog for now, though. That was easier to think about. Easier than the dark figure that loomed just beyond her reach._

_Right, the dog. Melvin just ran off one day, such a strange thing for him to do. He'd been loyally by her side for so long. Maybe it was his time to go; maybe he didn't want her as his master after all. Maybe she wasn't good enough._

_She wasn't good enough to do anything._

_The force of the objection hit her like a brick wall. Something was angry, though she couldn't figure out why. That crushing pressure; it'd been closing further and further in. The dreamscape narrowed to a point, smothering her under the weight. So close to the walls of her consciousness, Marian could hear the thing on the other side._

_Screaming her name._

_Marian._

_**Marian…**_

_**Marian!**_

"Mama!"

Hawke's eyes snapped open. She looked wildly around and found that she and Hugo were the only ones still in the cart. She must've drifted off on that long ride from the city to Pale Blossom Spring. Nearly six hours in the blazing summer sun, couldn't blame her for passing out.

Especially when she'd been crammed into the rumbling wagon with sixteen other sweaty and irritated passengers. One of which was very pregnant, and another who's baby would _not_ stop crying. Aveline liked to boast about her flawless leadership but that baby of hers didn't seem to get the memo. Hawke had a bad feeling little Joan would grow up to be even more stubborn than her ox of a mother- if it was possible. Some defensive mechanism must have clicked on in Hawke's mind, wedged between Fenris and Varric, with Hugo safe in her arms she'd drifted off to sleep.

Though her son looked far from his cheery self. His hands were on Hawke's wet cheeks, and his eyes grew wide with concern,

"You fell asleep and wouldn't wake up! Even when everybody else was movin' about!" He paused and gasped, "Mama you're cryin'!" he patted her cheeks for emphasis. Obviously Hawke fell asleep, but for the life of her she couldn't remember the dream. It was bad, but beyond that there was nothing. This was too common a trend for her to feel comfortable with its increasing frequency.

She looked about for a moment, noting the absence of everyone else and finding them standing just a few feet away in various positions of stretching and flexing. All of them still complaining loudly about the heat, of course. She wiped her cheeks quickly and stood up with Hugo in her arms- though she had a disturbing wobble that almost made her sit back down.

"I'm fine love, just a bad dream. Shh." She held him close and hopped off the back of the wagon before the others could notice her absence. Hugo protested against her, but he was quickly distracted by Chadwick and Rufus finally being set free of their slings. Soon the little boy was begging to go play with his beloved cousins. Hawke gladly set him down and watched him run off to Narri and the boys as they found a shady tree to sit under. Though to his credit, Hugo did glance back with his bushy brows furrowed at the conundrum his mother presented. She gave him a little wave and a smile, motioning to the waiting twins. With reluctance, he turned away and Hawke breathed a sigh of relief.

While everyone started to unload the supplies, she took a moment to look around.

A nearby sign post- that looked like it'd seen _much_ better days- had the barest hint of "Pale Blossom Spring" scrawled across the chipped wood. The spring was located deep in the Vimmark Mountains, nestled in the center of a sloping valley. Hawke inadvertently discovered the place a year back when Merrill dragged them up Sundermount to get some wood carving tool from the Keeper. The whole business seemed sketchy to Hawke, but Merrill had seemed too sincere in her convictions that the rogue figured no harm could come from lending her a hand. Especially since the Keeper and the rest of the clan seemed hell bent on treating her like shit.

Unfortunately the Dalish have a delightful habit of asking for things in return. Hawke and Fenris soon found herself dragged into a mountain cave a ways off from camp. In this cave they found the most horrifying creature since the Deep Roads incident. A _Varterral _or so Merrill had screeched when the monster popped out of nowhere and tried to kill them. Took a right eternity to kill the damn thing; left Hawke with a laceration fit for a king and Fenris a broken arm. Bless him, he always took the worst hits. On the upside, Hawke and Merrill learned some _very_ colorful Qunari curses that day.

Of course on the way back to camp they got royally lost. Which was nice seeing as that stupid elf who'd run right to his death…Posh, Pan? Something like that- his death was really bothering poor Merrill, and it made for some delightful awkward silences as they tried to limp through the thickening forest. One would think with Fenris's impeccable tracking skills and Merrill's Dalish-ness, finding their way through the woods would be cake. Not so; Fenris was reeling from the pain lancing through his arm to the point of deliria, and Merrill was so drained from the battle and trying to heal her friends as best she could that it was doubtful she could tell a Qunari from a dwarf.

They wandered for what must have amounted to a day or more, bickering and complaining all the while. With all the shrubbery and green Hawke figured they must have made it all the way to the edge of the Planasene Forest; impressive, even for them.

Though it was about that time when Fenris tripped over the edge of a small cliff and toppled right into a spring. Turned out to be the discovery that saved them, as the water was cool and clean for drinking and the natural barriers around it provided a perfect place to spend the night and recuperate. Not to mention that there was a grove of _peach_ trees surrounding the thing. Very out of place, but certainly welcome. The trees were in full blossom, the creamy petals drifted down to the water giving it an ethereal look in the moonlight. Hawke could swear she saw the Maker that night.

The faded road sign just outside of the grove gave them a path- barely perceptible, but a path nonetheless- to get back on. It led past the ruins of what must have once been a rather grand estate, but now was nothing more than overgrown piles of broken timber. Must be why the place wasn't on a map; some old noble summer house if Hawke had to guess.

But it was such a beautiful location that Hawke simply had to come back. And as she looked around now, it was even more stunning than she remembered.

Leandra came up next to her daughter looking around in wonder. The greying woman turned to her Hawke, "This is such a lovely place Marian! What a wonderful idea this was." Hawke nodded to her mother and went to sit by the water's edge. She vaguely heard Carver complain at her lack of help unloading. But found she couldn't care much. The sight was so peaceful; she dipped her fingers in and smiled at the temperature, mild as it was.

"Look out, Hawke!" A very scantily clad Isabela raced past her, having whipped off her poor excuse for clothing to leave nothing but her skivvies. The pirate gave a whoop and launched herself into the previously placid spring.

Merrill gave a little cry of happiness and followed suit; her underclothes a tad more modestly flapping about as she bounded after the cackling Rivaini. The little elf dove into the water and came up near the modest falls protruding from the back curve of the spring. Isabela instantly swam after her, laughing menacingly to send Merrill into fits of frightened giggles.

Hawke smiled as she watched them play about; soon joined by Carver and Donnic, all too eager to whip off their tunics and charge into the refreshing waters. Their wives sat under the shade of the peach trees, watching the boys with exasperated shakes of their heads. Gamlen sat along with them; already his nose was buried in a book. Though he did occasionally look up to cast a disapproving glance at all the noise the 'youngsters' in the pond were making.

Fenris and Anders worked on setting up camp, while Bethany fretted around behind them; desperately wanting to be of use. The elf looked irritated that either mage was in his presence, much less trying to tell him how to set up a tent. He made feeble attempts to wave them off which eventually ended in his markings flaring in warning at Anders. The mage muttered something that sounded like "ungrateful bastard" and marched off. Bethany trailed behind him, and tried to get his attention with the suggestion of picking some of the ripened peaches hanging heavily from the limbs overhead. That seemed to cheer him right up, and they set about trying to figure out how to climb the trees.

"You know, there was a time when you would laugh at the person sitting all by their lonesome. Laugh, and then drag them into the fun," Varric settled down next to Hawke, wiggling his stubby toes when they settled into the water. This had to be the first time she'd seen him out of his traditional garb of _entirely too many layers_. He wore a loose button down tunic open to his navel, and comfortable breeches that reached around his knees. She was about to make a comment about his chest hair being too much of a distraction to the spoken for women of the group, but she closed her mouth and sighed instead.

Varric raised an eyebrow, "Hawke? You can't fool me, you know."

She glanced over at him and made an attempt at a smile, "No use trying to trick you, eh?"

He shrugged with a smile that didn't meet his eyes, "I take pride in the fact that I'm bit harder to lie to than your family. Why don't you tell me what we can all see?"

"Mmm. And I'm stuck with you for a few days."

"It's the Expedition all over again."

She laughed then, looking over at him with raised brows and pointing to the bright red scar across her nose, "Not if I have to get another one of these. Blasted thing still looks fresh after all these years."

Varric chuckled, allowing her to change the subject for now. The dwarf pulled his ivory pipe out from a pocket and patted his others for matches, "That's Hawke for you; faces down an ancient dwarven monster, gets away with her life, but still manages to complain about a measly scar."

She snorted, "A _measly_ scar that is a big _angry_ beacon on my face. Mother swears its driven away suitors before I can even get a word out of my mouth."

"She still trying to set you up with some highborn brat?"

Hawke sighed, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers, "Bless her heart, yes. If the scar doesn't get them, it's usually the 'bastard son or 'criminal past' that sends them running." Her mouth twisted at the title Hugo had come upon with the Kirkwall nobles. She refused to give an identity to Hugo's father, and had yet to broach the subject with the boy either. It was a story Varric had yet to hear as well, its mention made his gold pierced ears perk up,

"You could just …tell them the truth? Or you could tell me, _just me_. I'd be fine with that." He muttered, striking a match against a nearby stump.

Hawke tossed him a sly grin, "His father will be whatever man can look past my apparent shortcomings and claim the boy as his own."

"I'll get the story out of you one day, Hawke." Varric had figured out that Aveline, Carver, Bethany, and Leandra were the only ones who knew the whole truth-not even Gamlen! Must've been a Ferelden thing. But all of them refused to even give him a hint when he asked. He'd even gotten Junior drunk to the point that the man was singing –badly- on top of a table in the Hanged man. Apparently no amount of prodding would make them spill the secret. Their loyalty to Hawke was impressive, _irritating_, but impressive.

"No you won't." Hawke's smile said joking, but her eyes were deadly serious, "Hugo is my son, and that's all that matters. Not his father, not anything else."

The boy would face enough hardships as it was, he didn't need worries about dead birth parents or an unknown lineage and a _supposed_ father to add on top. Despite all the craziness that populated Hawke's life, she wished very dearly to keep her son away from it as best she could.

They sat in silence for a long while after that, the tension draining away and the two old friends simply enjoying each other's company. They watched the children toddle over to the shallow banks and splash around for a time. Together, they saw the sun set, admiring the flaming sky over the horizon of the mountains. When it set completely, Carver insisted on being the one to start the fire. There was a bit of chest puffing from Fenris about it, and the two started to bicker over the best method to do it.

Eventually Anders got tired of the prattle and sent a crackling whip of flame into the fire pit. The flash of magic made Carver yelp, and Fenris flinch backwards with a withering glare in the mage's direction.

Leandra and Gamlen set about preparing dinner, Isabela of all people offering to help cook. To everyone's surprise the potent mix of spices and sauce over the sizable ham they'd brought along was a stroke of genius. The pirate claimed to have bedded a chef and gotten a few trade secrets out of him during the tryst, but it seemed there was something melancholy and wistful about the story. It was a cover up and a shoddy one, but the out-of-character emotion in Isabela's eyes discouraged questions.

Hawke could only assume it was from her time as a young wife back in Rivain. Maybe back then she'd very much liked cooking, but it was a subject Isabela refused to speak about outside jokes of her husband's assassination.

When everyone started to wind down, Leandra could be heard speaking with Narri and Aveline about the agenda for the next day. The men wanted to go hiking up through the mountain, and most of the women preferred to stay out of the woods and near the spring. It was decided that Anders and Varric would stay behind with them while the other boys, plus Merrill went traipsing off into the forest. A collective chuckle was restrained when Gamlen began enthusing about a 'brisk morning walk' through the forest. No one would be surprised to see Fenris or Donnic carrying the old man back by the end of the day.

Hawke sat back against one of the trees near her tent, Hugo lay on the grass next to her, having fallen asleep some time ago. A hand idly stroked his curls and she looked down at him fondly,

"We are going to have fun tomorrow, aren't we sweet heart?"

He didn't stir at her words; too tuckered out from playing all day with his family. The boy enjoyed the company of all Hawke's friends to the point where the distinction of blood family from acquaintance was long past. The little silver pendant around his neck glimmered in the firelight, all of their initials etched into it.

Hawke's eyes landed on the "S.V" printed just under hers. Her heart skipped a little beat in her chest and she quickly looked away. For the first two years after the Expedition Sebastian had gone on posing as a Chantry brother, while still accompanying Hawke on her brief forays out into the city. He was an immense help in petitioning the Viscount for rights to the Amell estate; having kept himself plenty educated in his isolation. If he was to be a king after all, he had to know the ins and outs of every facet of government.

All the while the man grew steadily closer to the Hawke family, and Hugo. The little boy admitted to loving the archer best, completely enamored with him after being taken on long horse rides around the city. Sebastian took it upon himself to provide that patriarchal presence Hugo had missed till then. The man had a gentle but firm approach with the troublesome toddler years, soothing and chastising as if he'd done it all his life. There was seldom a night when Hugo didn't find himself tucked in with those calloused hands, and read a Starkhaven fairy tale to help him find his dream land.

Of course all this had made Hawke quite smitten with the man. She couldn't be blamed; he was a _prince_ for the Maker's sake! A prince and everything that came with it; dashing, charming, handsome, well spoken, gentle, intelligent. What was there about him that did not beg to be admired? But despite his closeness with her and her family; there was a subtle distance he kept from her. She supposed he could play family all he wanted to satisfy his own homesick needs, and maybe find companionship from a lost life. But in the end he still had a murderer to track down, a false king to oust, and a throne to reclaim. None of that exactly left room for a budding relationship. So proven in the months that edged closer to a year of his absence.

"Time for bed, love."

She shook herself out of the melancholy thoughts and scooped Hugo up into her arms. Crawling inside the tent he was gently rolled onto the plush bedding. Hawke smiled as he instinctively curled up to his wolf pelt blanket. The one they'd broken into a shop to steal, beaten back a band of carta thugs to reclaim, set a warehouse on fire to get away with, and waded through a sewer to bring home. That was the day it all began really, she mused. Lying down next to her son she could only smile at his slack features. Without him, she might have never met Varric and Sebastian at all. Without him she wasn't sure where she'd be, or who'd be next to her.

Sleep rose up to meet her and as the peaceful vision of her son faded away, dark hands reached out from the fade and wrenched her down to meet them. Tonight would be a long night indeed.

* * *

**AN: Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Let me know what you think!  
**


	13. Over the River and through the Woods

**AN: Wow guys, I have had such a lack of inspiration this last week. I am terribly sorry it took me so long to update, and for leaving any messages unanswered as I was a bit disconnected from just about everything! But big changes are coming up in my personal life and I figure that was enough to kick me into submitting this chapter. **

**It is important to the plot, and things start to diverge from canon from here on out. I've never really gotten this far into a story before so if I get sloppy you'll have to bear with me; it's a new experience and I still have no one checking over my shoulder for stupid and obvious mistakes, so expect a lot of those.**

**Thank you all for being so patient, and for the feedback. I swear this story would have been dead in the water by now without the reviews!**

**Enjoy**

**-Ms.P**

* * *

There was peace in the wilderness, such that could not be found in even the most remote corners of the city. There was silence that pulsed louder than one could imagine. The thrumming of life snaked beneath a person's skin to become a part of them. It would seem that there was nothing to hear out in the forest, that absolute peace was constant. But that wasn't true; there was so much to listen for. The wind rustling through the trees, the call of a bird, the twigs crunching as some animal moved about in the underbrush. None of it hurt like the sounds of the city. Nothing was sharp and defined; it all just fell together as if there could be no other proper way of being. It was the place Fenris loved best.

The warrior levelled his sword and watched the caught ray of sunlight slide down the thin blade. The slight curve in the gleaming metal arched out in front of him, and he held the grip with a loose, confident hand. Slowly he raised the blade above his head and let out a deep breath as his feet slid into the stance. Then he pulled in his left hand and allowed it to sweep down in a graceful arc. The sword leveled again and he swept it out behind him swinging it around into a horizontal slice. Fenris spun, letting one foot keep its place on the ground as the other ghosted over the grass to rest behind it. The sword followed the movement, cutting through the air like a solid mass until it came up over his head once more. He tilted it just slightly and brought it down into a diagonal cut. Enter at the left shoulder and leave through the right armpit. The sword came down in a silver blur then leapt back up again to jab behind him. Fenris spun again, this time both his feet coming up at the end and placing him several paces away from his former position. The sword never stopped moving, slashing and slicing, biting through the armor of enemies like it was butter. His markings lit up and the blade hummed in response, the metal reflecting the blue light. He lunged forward then parried a blow, ducking under another and then driving his weapon through the would-be attacker.

The whole time his face remained an impassive mask, schooled to control that horrible anger that welled up in his chest far too often. The regimen continued in this way: cut, slice, diagonal, spin, parry, jab, finish. He flew through the movements gracefully as he always did reveling in the feeling of the blade becoming an extension of his arm.

Then he noticed Hawke standing by her tent, watching him. It was just after dawn and he knew the rest of the camp was still sleeping; besides Anders who was rummaging around in the food crates muttering about a lack of herbs for everyone's morning tea.

"Oh, don't stop on my account." She gave Fenris a wry smile and uncrossed her arms. Hawke's hair was strung up in a messy bun on the top of her head, and she wore nothing but her white sleeping tunic and a tan pair of cotton leggings. Her nonchalance was a poor cover up for the distress he could see bubbling just under the surface.

Fenris let his sword fall back into the sheath tied to his belt. He lay a hand on the hilt and let his weight settle onto one leg with the other hand on his hip. Those fierce green eyes missed nothing. Hawke had been crying, her face was puffy where she'd tried to wipe the tears away. Her nose was red as were her cheeks though the rest of her still remained that deathly pale; her scar was also bleeding slightly which meant she must have rubbed her face so much she opened the never healing wound. Must be those dreams she'd spoken to Varric about yesterday.

He walked over to her and stared with a weighted gaze, allowing the silence. Hawke looked away, ashamed.

"Let's go for a walk. The mage shouldn't go alone to collect his herbs." He nodded in Anders' direction then promptly marched that way without reference to her disheveled state. He heard her sigh in relief behind him. Really, she did need to figure out that his hearing was much better than everyone seemed to think.

A little while later, Fenris and Hawke walked along the dim forest path behind Anders who scoured the bushes for any sign of Fennel or Lemon Balm. Even though Fenris personally knew that Leandra preferred Coriander seeds to give her morning tea that citrusy taste; they weren't likely to find any unless they wanted to venture farther up into the mountains. He was a bit embarrassed at the thought; but Fenris knew much of the Hawke family's culinary preferences due to the amount of time he spent in the kitchens. He'd never admit it, but watching Orana cook was something of a meditation for him. The way her delicate little hands moved about was so skillful…A small blush crept to his cheeks and he shook his head slightly to clear the muddling thoughts.

"It's rather nice up here, isn't it?" Hawke said quietly, looking around at the way the dawn's rays trickled in through the trees, "Reminds me of the Brecilian forest; Lothering was just a little ways away from its outskirts and sometimes Garret and I would go and play there for days," She smiled dreamily, "Mother would be furious with us for being gone so long. But Garret had this way of sweet talking her that got us out of any deep trouble."

Fenris glanced over at her with a raised eyebrow, "I've heard sparse mention of your older brother."

The effect was immediate; Fenris could almost see her clamming up. She looked down at the forest path then stopped to lean against a tree while Anders rummaged around in a bush, "Well…the way he left…" she looked up at the bits of sky peeking through the branches, "wasn't good."

"But you speak of him so fondly."

"I didn't say I don't love him. It's just hard to think about that time." She sighed, "The day that Garret was taken away to the tower was the day that my father died."

Fenris was silent then, finding the ground very interesting all of the sudden. He shouldn't have broached this topic. It was obvious that the death of Malcolm Hawke was one that still lingered among the rest of his family almost two decades after the fact. Though Hawke looked uncomfortable, she did seem a tad more likely to speak of it today. Fenris waited patiently, amusing himself with observing Anders's futile efforts to disentangle himself from a thorny vine just next to the lemon balm plant he'd spotted.

"The Templars came out of nowhere," She began with a weary voice, "we'd lived in Lothering for years without a single incident. But one day a whole battalion just showed up at our farmstead. They didn't even ask questions when they approached father; they just cut him down. Calling him a blood mage and then moving towards the house." Hawke looked sadly down the path, "Garret knew that they were aware of the presence of more mages than just my father. So he essentially sacrificed himself, to keep their eyes off Beth who was only six at the time.

"He'd been watching out the window through it all, and he was the one that kept us from rushing outside when they cut down father. He turned to me and said "Hide Beth, I'll draw them off." Then he kissed my forehead, ran out and launched a fireball right at the whole battalion," her lips twitched like they wanted to smile but couldn't find the will to, "I'll never forget it. He stuck out his tongue and then ran away with a storm of lightning in his wake. The Templars were furious and chased after him, no longer giving any consideration to us. They shot after him with smite after holy smite, but none of them landed and soon my brother was nothing but a spec in the distance with an entourage of silver dots trailing after him. That's the last I saw of Garret, except in my dreams, I can only assume they caught him and took him to the tower. If he was lucky…" She trailed off as they began walking again. A very irritated Anders healing his scratched arms and legs but clutching a triumphant basket of scalloped, lemon scented leaves.

"Tower you say?" The mage turned and walked backwards in front of them, "What's your brother's name? Garret?" He held his chin for a moment, "No I can't say I remember anyone by that name- but hey it's not like I knew everybody-"

Anders was cut off when he backed right into something. Like a cat dunked in water the mage nearly fell flat on his face trying to turn around.

It turned out that something was a tall and quite angry looking Dalish Hunter. He had long black hair that spilled over his shoulders and braided along his temples. The signature markings of his clan spread across his face and his leather armor was dark, smelling of pine. Hawke had yet to figure out how those elves moved about so damn quietly in the thick forest. She felt like an ogre romping through the underbrush in comparison.

"Marian Hawke?" He said, though it didn't sound much like a question; more of an affirmation of something he already knew to be true.

"…yes?" She hazarded, trying her best not to look surprised. Anders scampered over to her side willing his fast beating heart to slow and retain a shred of dignity.

"Good, we've been searching for you. Keeper Marethari has a camp set up in the next valley. You need to come with me now." He motioned to the path behind him with his head.

"Uh…wait what? Why?" Hawke shook her head and her brows furrowed, "What are you doing all the way out here? The camp I've visited is nearly two days west from here."

"I cannot explain it to you. You must speak of it with only the Keeper. But she says it is of the utmost urgency. Many lives could be lost without your immediate presence." The hunter looked irritated, Hawke noted how he shifted his weight from foot to foot, and his hands were clenched tightly at his side. This must be important indeed to interrupt that steely intensity Hawke had seen from Dalish till now.

Fenris wanted to suggest returning to camp first and informing everyone where they were going, but this was Hawke, and she was already marching down the path with that stubborn tilt to her mouth. Anders seemed to second his thoughts and made to speak, "Maybe I should-" Fenris did not give him time to finish; he grabbed the mage by the collar of his tunic and began dragging him after their thick headed leader,

"_If_ and _when_ Hawke hurts herself on this fool errand, we will need you around to patch her up while I throttle whatever did it."

Anders sighed and allowed himself to be pulled along, "I was stupid to expect anything else."

* * *

"Hawke. I'm glad you've come."

Hawke let the tent flap fall aside as she stepped inside the small space. The tent was spacious but not opulently so. The walls were made of a red dyed material that seemed to be as sturdy as leather but made from some type of wool. The floor was grass, with several pelts scattered around to keep in the warmth. There were a few wooden tables around with odd objects perched on each. One had a ragged teddy bear with an eye missing, another a small wooden cup with cracks and stains to decorate it. Though the main attraction lay in the middle of the little space.

It was Feynriel, Hawke realized with a jolt. The boy they'd saved from slavers a few years back. Hawke sent him to the Dalish rather than the circle with the hope he might find guidance there for his unusual abilities. The boy had changed significantly; his pale blond hair was down to his elbows now, and done away from his face in small intricate braids. There were tiny leaf like tattoos on the sides of his handsome face. He'd indeed grown into that lanky teen body and was now looking something more like a man in the soft leathers that clung to his form. He lay prone in the middle of the tent on a bedroll, surrounded by incense and candles which burned low and let up little wisps of smoke.

Next to him was Keeper Marethari. She was sitting with her legs tucked under her in that elegant way elves had, with her hands folded neatly in her lap. The elder looked up at Hawke with a sad smile,

"It is good to see you again, Hawke. I'm glad you've come, for no one else could do what I'm about to ask of you."

"I'm sorry you'll need to _repeat_ that. My _fine_ elven ears are tuned for things that make at least a small bit of _sense_." Fenris growled under his breath.

Hawke sighed and rubbed her head as they stood outside the small tent. The campsite was in a secluded little alcove in the valley next to Pale Blossom Spring. It had a cliff face as its back and a river on each side with only thick forest guarding the entrance. Well, thick forest and about a dozen Dalish hunters armed to the teeth. Each of the elves looked on edge, to put it lightly. They weren't even sitting, most were up trying to make themselves useful to the camp while others simply paced the perimeter with keen eyes scanning the forest beyond. The Keeper had yet to emerge from the tent; Hawke was sent in almost an hour ago, and now she came out spouting the most ludicrous thing Fenris had yet to hear from her- and that was saying a lot considering all of the insane missions he'd been dragged along on.

"Are you sure this is the only way to save the boy?" Anders asked, arms crossed and eyes serious. Fenris whipped his head around to the mage in disbelief. Was this shocking to only _him_? They had to go into the _fade_ and defeat whatever manner of enemy waited there, while also persuading the boy, Feynriel that they'd saved from slavers years before to _not_ go on a rampage and try to take over Thedas with his _amazing dreamy mage powers_.

This was exactly why Fenris had suggested sending the boy to the circle last time. The mages there were clearly better equipped to deal with this sort of thing. Or they'd just kill him; that'd be the best option in this situation. Of course this wouldn't be the first time Hawke ignored his advice concerning mages.

"It's all we can do. Marethari is ready." She sighed and rubbed her head, "I don't expect either of you to come with me- just make sure to watch my body while I'm-"

"Oh _shut up_." Fenris snarled, and marched past her into the tent. His devotion to this suicidal woman would be the death of him, no doubt.

Marethari guided them to three soft bed rolls and instructed them into a prone position on their backs. She promised the hunters would allow no harm to come to their bodies while their spirits were in the Beyond. Fenris couldn't stop twitching; every bone in his body told him to run from this place. Even when the ancient magic touched at the corners of his mind he recoiled. It had a soft, earthy feel to it where Danarius's had been sharp and electric. It was even different from the occasional healing he'd received from the abomination now lying next to him. He tried his best to fight against it, his markings lighting up as he did; but it turned out that the lyrium only sped up the process and soon his mind was tugged down into darkness.

Darkness that immediately lit up again with a blurry shifting light.

Fenris blinked several times and looked around. He stood in a wide open field. The grass was golden and shifted in a wind that touched none of its occupants. Around him was a scatter of Dalish aravels, alieanage huts, and the occasional tower in the distance that might have been part of Hightown. The sky was a murky green mixed with blues and reds. But it constantly shifted between those awful colors and the pure cyan of a midday sky. The air was thick and warm, feeling less like air and more like concentrated energy when it was breathed in. Fenris's limbs felt heavy and all he wanted to do was sit down. But he fought against it knowing it was likely a trick of the spirits who lurked about.

Fenris heard a groan next to him and he looked over to see Anders stagger up from the ground. The lyrium on the elf's skin must've made his transition easier because the mage seemed to be groggy and bleary to say the least. Though there was something different about him; his eyes were an icy blue and he wore sleek golden armor instead of the patchwork tunic he'd fallen unconscious in. There was an upright look to him that starkly contrasted with his usual slouch and whimper posture, and his steely eyes surveyed the landscape around him with an air of distaste,

"**I'd not thought to return to this place in such a way**." Anders murmured, his voice not his own. It was much deeper and rich, filled with a sense of righteousness. Then it struck Fenris; this was not Anders at all.

"So you are the spirit that the mage houses." The elf said with a curl to his lip, taking a step away from him.

"**I am Justice**." He said simply, glancing at Fenris as if he were no more than a fly on the wall, "**Though you may have to forget your petty prejudices for a moment; it seems that we have a bigger problem**."

Fenris turned to where Justice was pointing and his heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

It was Hawke, but it seemed her trip into the fade had yielded some unexpected consequences. She was suspended above the ground in a gelatinous bubble of red ichor. It sizzled and popped with black runes occasionally becoming visible on the surface. Inside she was curled up in a ball, her face a twisted mask of agony as she looked past them into a world all her own. The sphere reeked of magic and evil.

Though it wasn't nearly as interesting as the person who stood next to it.

"_**Finally**_!" It was a little boy with a shock of white-blond hair and bright red eyes. Like the fade his appearance was constantly shifting from bright eyed little boy to something with an abundance of horns and purple scales. Though in this human form he was skinny, with lanky limbs and looking to be close to his teens. His round face was a mask of triumph, a big grin and raised brows. He pumped his fists and danced around the orb while he cackled,

"_**It took Netsi **_**so long**_**! But here you are little Marian, oh Master will be so pleased! No more whips for Netsi! No more slices for Netsi! Ahahahahah**_!" The boy whooped and jumped up into the air, twirling a few times longer than normal gravity should allow before dropping back down the to the ground,

"_**Now Netsi just has to go tell the Master where you are and the Master will come get you! Finally, **_**finally**!" The little boy put his hands together and started chanting something. Little black runes began to swirl around him, the orb glowing brighter. It seemed as though the idiot thing was completely oblivious to their presence.

"**Enough, imp**." Justice strode over to the thing calling itself Netsi and stretched out his hand. A glowing golden sword appeared before it with the tip at the little boy's throat.

The boy screeched as the spell exploded in its face; the runes scattering into black vapor. It looked down at the golden sword with pure fear in its red eyes. Justice stepped closer, the sword pricking the delicate white skin of Netsi's neck, smoke curling up from the spot,

"_**AHHHHHH!**_" He wailed as Justice loomed over him, "_**Let Netsi go! Netsi did nothing to you, Sire! Great and powerful spirit of Justice! Oh mighty and majestic lord! Please please please please don't kill him, he did nothing! He was only doing what the Master said**_**!**" The screams quickly turned to sobs as the thing fell to its knees, it groveled and begged though didn't seem to be very intelligent and soon ran out of titles.

"What….what _is_ that thing?" Fenris said, coming to stand next to Justice while glancing up at the swirling orb Hawke was still trapped inside.

"**A demon. A **_**stain**_**." **Justice said with a sneer, the demon sobbed and agreed with him. It called itself weak, a worm, not worthy of their attention, but Justice silenced it with a twitch of the sword against its neck, "**Tell me, demon. What have you done to this girl**?"

The thing sobbed harder, "_**Netsi cannot tell you, oh magnificent and benevolent spirit! His Master has commanded him not to speak of it! It is the Master's spell, not Netsi's! Netsi only keeps it! Only watches it!**_"

Justice sighed and pressed the sword harder, the demon squealed and sobbed. But it still did not speak. The spirit seemed to get irritated and turned to Fenris,

"**The beast speaks truthfully. I can sense a binding curse keeping it from betraying its master**."

Fenris was baffled, "I've never heard of a mortal commanding a demon to do anything. They are always overtaken by the spirit's influence." He shook his head, "Just get him to let Hawke out of…whatever that is."

Justice looked back at Netsi, who by now looked rather hideous as most of his energy had been devoted to keeping his essence away from the glowing sword and not to keeping up his appearance, "**Release her, or you die. Simple enough even so one such as you can understand**."

The demon began crying again, "_**Netsi cannot! He cannot! The Master makes him keep this spell or his essence will be burned with the undying fire for a thousand thousand years**_!"

"Undying fire?" Fenris glanced at Justice.

The spirit looked disturbed, "**A spell that higher demons use to keep their hordes of imps and haunts in line. I've never heard of a mortal using it.**"

"Are we sure this is a mage, and not a higher demon?"

"**Demons teach blood magic, but they do not use it. They have no need for it here in the fade. This spell that traps Marian Hawke is clearly blood magic**." Justice looked annoyed and twisted the sword a little, making the demon squirm.

"**It cannot release the spell, and cannot tell us the name or nature of its Master. Therefore; it is useless to us**."

With a sudden thrust of his arm, the golden sword sliced through the squealing demon's throat, severing its head from its shoulders. With a dying wail that grated on Fenris's ears, it vanished in a small red burst. At the same moment, the orb around Hawke dissipated. The red ichor exploded outward and the black runes lifted. Furious whispers in some forgotten language drifted past them, and then all was silent.

Fenris found he might like this spirit a tad more than the sniveling mage he inhabited.

"Hawke!" He ran over to Marian and took her into his arms; she coughed and gasped as her eyes fluttered wildly. Then after a moment she looked back and forth between the two men over her,

"Ah. Well, it seems we're all here, goodness, no wonder people don't come here often. That was terrible!" She staggered up and out of Fenris's grip, shooing him away, "Looks like we've got a mage to find!" She grinned around at them while Fenris stared at her with narrowed angry eyes and Justice looked down his nose, trying to assess her condition. It seemed she had no idea what'd just transpired.

"What?" She put her hands on her hips, "Do I have something on my face?" she touched around her face, avoiding the scar as best she could. The two men exchanged a look.

"**No... We'd best get moving**." Justice said, and walked past her toward where he could feel the fluid energy of the fade being molded into something solid; and something dangerous. The golden sword materialized once more between his fingers,

"**We do indeed have a mage to find**."

* * *

**"steely dalish gaze" Meanwhile Merrill prances around in a field of flowers somewhere.**


	14. Demons

**AN: This chapter is a bit short, but it was really fun to write! I may have changed an expounded on some canon theories about the fade; sorry about that. But I'm basing it heavily off of some other demon-worldy books I've read, and I think it fits pretty well!**

**Enjoy, and please let me know what you think!**

**-Ms.P**

* * *

"My people, I present to you; our hope." Wryme had to work rather hard to keep his voice upbeat. The boredom was nearly overwhelming. The sniveling whelp standing before him could barely be called a man, and the lies were bitter on the demon's tongue. This pitiful fool couldn't inspire anything beyond revulsion; much less hope. He watched from the ridiculously small and frail form of the elven Keeper. This body was one that floated especially close to the surface of Feynriel's memories, one that he respected. Wryme supposed it would be better than nothing; the boy had to succumb eventually. Once he did Wryme would incinerate his consciousness, steal his body; and with its power he would step back and forth between worlds with all the limitless power of the fade at his back. A triumph that would be spoken of for eons by his hordes of loyal thralls.

The fade shifted slightly a few dimensions over. Wryme's ears perked up at that. Wasn't there some shifty desire demon across the way? He hadn't worried about it overly much, as none could contest with the _seduction_ of power and status. Wryme had much more to offer the little weakling than any pathetic desire demon ever could.

But now the fade was dissolving into its natural formless state where she'd once spent her energy crafting a dream for the boy. It seemed she'd lost interest, or more likely had been killed. Good; her power returning to the fade would be a step up from any useless forms she tried to make it take. And more for Wryme's minions to collect.

His own island dimension was much more finely crafted than her pathetic sham; she obviously hadn't been to the human world before. Her walls had been sloppy and constantly rebuilding themselves and the floor had a habit of dissolving wherever you didn't need to immediately step. How she kept up the ruse for more than an hour Wryme didn't even deign to consider. His own was a perfect replica of the Dalish encampment on Sundermount in the mortal world. He'd dipped into Feyrniel's memory of the place and found that many a day had been spent in silent contemplation of the place which made the wealth of detail incredible. He brought a roof of dawn tinted sky over the illusion to solidify it; a detail lesser demons often forgot about. Imbeciles all of them; the damn mortals spent most of their time out under the sky, you had to get it right or they'd see right through the dream. Needless to say this wasn't Wryme's first time possessing someone.

"His features may mark him as human but in his heart beats the blood of the dales."

The crowd of imps wearing masks of elves cheered exuberantly, as they should lest they wanted him to shred their essences. The demon sighed internally as he glanced around the dream. With his eyes he could see each mass of energy swirling around the fade like ocean currents. He could grab one passing by and force it into a tangible form which a mortal might walk upon. Demons needed no such thing, as their own forms were merely for the benefit of dreamers who could not comprehend the boundless melding of the elements that was a demon's true essence. If distance was possible in the fade- which it wasn't, it was purely a hindrance of the physical world that had no place in the Beyond- Wryme's collected power and energy would take up about the space of Feynriel's home city, Kirkwall. Impressive even for a pride demon.

"He came to us to learn his heritage, to release a power as ancient as our race." He made the mouth of his mask move, and its arms rise as they motioned to the bashful lad standing next to her.

"I- I don't know what to say." Feynriel said with a tentative smile. Wyrme could almost see him preening under the compliments. It wouldn't be long now-

"Oh great, another demon." Keeper Marethari's head whipped around so fast it nearly flew off her shoulders, but Wryme just barely managed to keep it there. His eyes widened as he looked upon three mortals, non-dreaming spirit bound _people_ standing just in the entrance to the Dalish camp. _How_ had they escaped his notice till now? They must be the cause of Caress's death.

He narrowed his eyes; they were an odd group indeed. All three glowed too brightly too look at on the mortal plane he'd constructed for the boy, so Wryme's eyes slipped up a few planes till they were comfortable. On the spirit plane he saw the one on the left clearly identified. What an oddity; a human soul bound in equal measure to a being of Justice. The two souls butted up against each other; mixed in some places and clashing in others. That couldn't be good for his lifespan- which also looked to harbor a few growing strands of the taint. Hah! That one was practically begging for death!

The one on the right he had to look at on the plane closest to the mortal world. And that was only to see past the veins of lyrium that ran all over the man's form. _Those_ he could see clearly from any point in the fade, like all lyrium in existence. But to see a physical being carrying the stuff in his bones, on his skin, and wrapped around his spirit was quite interesting indeed. Not very good for life expectancy either. Had a group of suicidal monks decided to march in on his little party?

Then there was the one in the middle. This one was most fascinating. Wryme could have spent _hours_ studying her. Well, he'd start on the soul plane first as he thought there was a glimmer of something there. His curiosity was quickly rewarded with a thick soul chain wrapped around her heart, extending an inch, and an eternity across the whole fade, and through a circle of spell craft mixed with blood magic and lyrium up into the mortal world. It connected from her, around her companions like a net, and ended at Feynriel. Ah, so this must be someone the boy trusted, come to fetch him. Wryme set those thoughts aside and continued his investigation. The next bit was on the spirit plane, oddly enough. It was a tiny glowing light across the mortal woman's nose. It was pulsing red and just barely visible on all the plains though it glowed brightest on this one. So- a spirit that ate a lot of lyrium…what? Hit her or something? That sounded like quite a story…Little red veins of light extended back from the mark into her skull; ooh that had to be terrible for her memory retention. The hallucinations, blindness, and crazed babbling were sure to start any year now.

Wryme chuckled to himself and continued up onto the spell plain where her chain still glowed brightly. Though he noticed something underneath, and sifted into the heart of the plane to take a look. What he saw stunned him.

There was a demon, standing just behind her, but caged in the spell plane. In fact, with the runes etched all over the girl's body it looked like there had been two bound to her. Though there was a bald patch where one must've been recently removed. With a start he realized the other demon was looking straight at him. Her power confused him; it was absolutely massive. Maybe even on par with his own. But it was contained within a mortal soul. How does one go about doing that? They'd have to first find a mortal, clear their soul of memories and personality like the mages "tranquil" but then shove a demon in there any way. Such a being would be able to exist both in the fade and the physical world and would be immensely powerful in both. Wryme knew this to be impossible; but there she was standing in that spell cage connected to this unsuspecting woman, watching him.

A bit of pity swam up in Wryme's consciousness for this girl; that demon could attack at any second, the moment it's master bade it to.

That pity was quickly crushed when he felt Feynriel's soul pull back from his influence. Wryme snapped to attention and saw that the boy recognized the shade this woman wore over her form. The demon frantically searched around in Feynriel's memory and found that the boy was projecting the image of First Enchanter Orsino over her. Why, Wryme had no idea. But it certainly wasn't helping the process of possessing him.

"He lies, the first enchanter is a pawn of the Templars!" Marethari turned to the boy, ignoring the strange entourage behind him. She did her best to look serious, and not let any panic show through. This boy belonged to Wryme, and he'd not let a few words from some death bound pack of mortals take him away.

But too late; Feynriel stepped away from him. The demon snarled as the boy's soul pulled away completely and gathered a storm of fade energy around itself. Damn those somniari powers- Wryme wanted them so badly but they worked actively against him! He struggled and pulled against the retreating soul, but in a matter of seconds Feynriel was transporting himself to a different dimension of his own creation where no one could touch him. A proverbial lock box to keep everything out.

"No! Stay back demon!" And with that, the boy vanished from even Wryme's far reaching sight.

There was a moment of silence in the light of fading energy.

"…_**nrrgghhhGGHHHH DAMN IT ALL**_!" Wryme whipped around to the intruders. They'd ruined it! They awoke the somniari powers and now the brat would see _everything_ just as a spirit of the fade could. He'd have to wait _years_ for his next attempt. Wryme would have to slink around on the edges of his dreams and watch like some scavenger for any cracks in the defenses. And of course the little bastard would no doubt find a Master to instruct him on ways to even further his powers- **GAH! IT WOULD BE **_**IMPOSSIBLE**_!

Now that Feynriel was gone, his shade vanished from the woman and he could see her clearly. Could see her _smirking_ at him. It was _infuriating_.

"_**Fine, mortal. You take my toy; I take yours**_." Without a moment's hesitation Wryme shot his influence across the space between them. The red spear of energy lodged itself in the chest of the lyrium coated elf next to her.

The man staggered backwards and looked down at the red chain extending from his chest; his eyes were wide and filled with an absolute terror that only made gripping his soul all the easier. The lyrium coating flared violently and became tinted with Wryme's influence. It spread across his body and formed a cage around his mind, lulling his soul to sleep while Wryme took the reins for a while. Long enough to kill that bitch next to him, at least.

"_**I can give you the power to overcome any magister. You could take their own damndable spells and turn them back in their faces. Wouldn't you like that, Fenris**_?" The memories were right there on the surface; the slave may have run from his master but he might as well have worn shackles every day with how much it still affected him. It was all too easy. Wryme could see the struggle. His mind fought like a caged beast, clawing and smashing itself against the cage Wryme kept firmly in place. Try as the idiot might; the lyrium augmented Wryme's power and shoved him down. After a moment of blank eyed silence, Fenris looked up at him.

The woman that Wryme now knew to be Marian Hawke flinched towards her friend. Her eyes were hard and angry but the demon could easily see the fear behind them, "Fenris, don't. You. _Dare_. I will dub you the biggest damn hypocrite that ever lived!"

The demon threw back his head and laughed, abandoning the Keeper's frail form for his preferred body; a giant even by human standards with horns and spikes all over the place. Did wonders for intimidation tactics even if it wasn't very pleasing to look at.

Talk was pointless now even as the abomination and the woman practically yelled at the silent elf. His mind was putting up an impressive fight- one that Wryme rarely saw even from trained mages. But it was their mistake to bring their raw and unprotected souls here into his domain where he could _so_ easily turn them into his thrall. The soul bashed itself against his spell cage over and over, screaming as loud as it could. In fact, it wailed so loudly that the soul plane nearly shook from the force. This one had seen much hardship indeed. Too bad none of that mattered. He wasn't a mage, and didn't have the power to break Wryme's influence.

Slowly, Fenris turned to Hawke with eyes the color of blood, and vacant as a ruin. A slow smile curved the elf's lips- just for that extra little _something_ that every betrayal needed. Wryme nudged his mouth and the vocal chords constricted as he began to speak,

"You offer me nothing but complacency, human. With him I can take revenge on all who dragged me down," oh this was going to hurt, "starting with you." Wryme cackled at the heartbreaking look that flashed across the woman's features. It was beautiful; her best friend in the whole world turning on her in a matter of seconds. Well, that's what she got for taking away the power of the ages. You don't embarrass a pride demon such as Wryme and get away unscathed. Or with your life, in this case.

The demon twitched a clawed finger, and the energy of the fade swirled around Fenris's arm; his hand came up and curled around the hilt of his sword. Wryme watched Hawke's features crumple into an expression that clearly held back tears as she backed away from the elf. The abomination caught her shoulders and made to move in front of her-but Wryme wouldn't let the frumpy spirit of Justice take away his fun.

Fenris's markings lit up and he closed the distance between himself and Hawke in a matter of seconds. The two didn't have time to react, but the demon watched it play out in slow motion- wanting to savor this for a good long time. The sword slid out of its sheath and glinted so dangerously in the fade's light. It was wielded by one who must practice with it every day because Wryme barely had to guide its path to her heart.

The blade sank into Hawke's chest, slicing through the flesh and bone like butter until it came out the other side.

Beautiful.


	15. How Long Was I Out?

**AN: Ah...there's the canon; flying out the window. There it goes. Wave goodbye.**

* * *

The world was out of focus. It was tilted and wrong. Everything was so awful and it didn't make sense. This place was sticky and hot, oppressively so. The air was thick and rank and it hurt to breath. There was wetness on her lips, and it dripped down her chin. Maybe that was her blood. Maybe she was dying.

Maybe Fenris had shoved a sword through her heart.

The slim blade she'd seen him training with just this morning twisted, sending waves of agony pulsing through her. Her head tilted back and she looked at the massive pride demon which loomed over her, a cruel smirk plastered over its monstrous features. The red glow of its eyes matched that of the elf before her. The elf who she'd rescued, let into her home, and called friend. He wrenched the blade out from between her ribs, and stepped away from her as she fell to her knees.

"Son…of a _bitch_…" she gasped out.

The demon had one of its giant hands extended to keep a prison of light in place around Justice. Hawke heard him like cotton was stuffed in her ears, she could just make out his furious roaring. The abomination burst into blue flames and fought desperately against his prison. But Hawke was just too tired to keep her eyes open. The blurry shape of Fenris rose up in front of her, his face a blank mask with the lips turned up in a gruesomely wide grin. A smile that had to tear the muscles in his cheeks. Like a puppet on a string.

Hawke coughed, and blood bubbled past her lips again, dripping down her tunic and onto the floor. She heard Justice scream as she began to fall forward.

But she didn't make it all the way to the ground. There was a bright flash of red just behind her. Hawke vaguely saw the pride demon stagger back a few steps with a ripple of force that filled the room. Where had that come from? Had Justice somehow escaped his prison?

"_**Well, this is troublesome**_." A deep two toned voice spoke at her shoulder. No, that wasn't Justice. The voice was smooth like velvet but with a grating undertone. There was something distinctly feminine about it. Hawke gasped as she felt her wound begin to knit itself closed, "_**You've never been this close to death before. My job was so easy till now**_…"

"_**So…you show yourself, creature**_. _**I was wondering when you'd come out to play**_." The pride demon drawled once he'd collected himself. He snapped his fingers and Fenris picked himself up from the floor where the pulse of energy had sent him sprawling. The elf still had that unnatural grin; like the demon had forgotten to stop it.

"_**Tell me, how did you end up like**_," the demon gestured to Hawke and who she could only assume was her mystery savoir behind her, "_**that? What manner of magic binds you in this form**_?"

Clawed hands set her back on her feet. She tried to see past the tears, and the blood, and the pain. The flesh melding together once more was nearly worse than the initial cut. Whoever it was decidedly ignored the pride demon's inquiry and patted her shoulder to keep Hawke from lurching ahead,

"_**Oh don't trouble yourself, dear. This is what I'm here for, after all**_." A figure walked past her, striding lazily ahead to stand between Hawke and Fenris. Her vision began to return, and she could just barely make out the shape of a woman. A huge woman; but still the curves were there. She almost looked like a qunari- though Hawke had never seen a female of their race before. The skin was a grey tinted bronze, and she had gorgeous white hair that cascaded down her back like a silky waterfall. She wore a simple gold dress bunched at the waist with a red belt, and the most notable features were the horns arching back gracefully on her skull. She had unearthly red eyes, glimmering in the dim light of the fade very differently from Fenris's soulless orbs.

The pride demon roared; being ignored was apparently quite offensive. It pointed a clawed finger at the woman, "_**What are you**_!?"

The woman finally turned in his direction, giving him a sharp toothed grin, "_**Not at liberty to say. Bosses orders, sorry**_." She cracked her knuckles and her hands lit up with blazing red flames, "_**The other orders are to kill anything that tries to harm Marian Hawke**_."

"You…You've done a sh-shitty job of that…" Hawke gasped, staggering backwards and clawing at her healing chest.

"_**The instructions were loose, I simply interpreted them to make sure you don't die. Which you've done a fine job of doing for me, till now**_." She blew a strand of white hair out of her eyes, "_**Though killing Netsi was a no-no. So I figured I'd let you suffer a bit before helping; he was a cute little bugger…"**_

The pride demon had apparently reached the end of his patience, and with a furious roar lunged forward. Fenris followed suit; charging straight toward the injured Hawke.

The woman gave a tut of annoyance and appeared in front of Fenris in a flash of red light. The elf jerked backward to prevent running right into her, but she gave him no time to react. With one clawed hand the demonic woman backhanded the possessed elf into the solid rock of the fabricated Sundermount. The force of the blow elicited several sickening cracks from Fenris when he made contact. He slumped down the side of the small cliff and moved no more.

Without missing a beat, the woman turned and caught the fist the pride demon had almost connected to her pretty face. She gave a sigh that sounded akin to boredom,

"_**You've no power here, Wryme. You should know better than to come at me with a mere **_**thrall**_**."**_

With a flick of her wrist, there was a loud crack from the demon's arm. A crimson beam of light shot out of his forearm, and little hairline fractures began to spread up the length of him. The demon screeched, trying to pull out of her grip with frantic howls of pain. But she only gave him a sadistic grin, and clenched her fist.

The cracks spanned out over the demon's form and then exploded outward in a blinding flash of light, accompanied by Wryme's deafening scream. The blast knocked Hawke backwards into one of the Dalish Aravels scattered around the mock camp. Unlike the real thing; these were not made out of wood. Instead they were about the consistency of that mountain Fenris had been thrown into- great eye for detail, these demons. The impact sent a shock of pain through her fragile body, quickly followed by another bout of painful healing magic. She heard Justice give a strangled yelp as the magic cut through him. The abomination crashed into the stone and lay face down in the dirt. Hawke tried to make her way over to him, but her head would not stop spinning enough to even take a step.

As the pulses of the Wryme's powers battled with those of the woman, Hawke thought she heard an irritated grunt. Maker please don't let this mysterious ally lose the battle. The struggle raged on for a few more minutes and Hawke's vision began to slowly return.

She could see the horned woman standing with feet spread wide and arms extended. The demon she fought was encased in a sphere of light, but was throwing its fractured body against the prison again and again. It didn't look like her spell would hold much longer against the onslaught.

Just as she began to lose control, black spell script shot out of the ground in a circle around the dying thing. It was in an ancient and harsh language, glowing an eerie white around the onyx edges. Hawke could hear furious chanting coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. The runes closed in on the red sphere and soon passed through the borders. Once inside they crashed into the struggling Wryme. He screeched in pain and fury as the marks branded themselves onto his skin and sent up plumes of black smoke.

After a few moments of struggle, the demon twitched once and lay still. The woman finally let the red spell go, dropping the orb from around Wryme's prone form. He shrank and lost structure until there was nothing but a pile of ichor in his place. It moved about weakly, as if trying to reconstruct itself. The woman sighed in relief and blew a hair out of her eyes. She walked carefully over and wiggled a few clawed fingers over the pile before it swirled up into her hands like an obedient pet,

"_**You'll make a fine addition to our little family, Wryme," **_she looked up into the slowly crumbling sky of the fade as the dream began to deconstruct itself, "_**Ah, Master. Thank you for the help**_." Hawke looked wildly around for this supposed Master, but saw no one about. When she looked back, the woman was standing in front of her with Fenris slung over one shoulder, and Justice the other. Next to her floated a little purple sphere of some glowing crumbly substance. Whispers drifted off of it now and again; Hawke could only wonder if that was Wryme himself. But she found that it really didn't matter.

"Who…who are you? And what the hell just happened? Is Fenris going to be all right? What about Anders?" Hawke fell to her knees as all the fight came out of her in a whoosh.

"_**That will all be explained**_," the woman seemed to listen for a moment and Hawke could swear she heard that same harsh language on some distant breeze. After it stopped speaking the woman looked down at her with a small smirk, "_**rather soon it seems. The Master wishes to meet you in person, at long last. Though that cannot happen if you get trapped in the fade**_." Hawke suddenly realized that the dream was now disappearing rather rapidly, leaving nothing but empty space around them. The sky was that trademark greenish red, clouds roiled around in eternal thunderstorms and in the very distance Hawke could swear she saw a glimmering, dark city. Odd indeed.

"But what about Feynriel?" She suddenly gasped, "We came in here to wake him up! We can't just leave without him!"

The woman looked rather impatient at this point, "_**He woke himself up as soon as he was free from the demon's influence. Now hurry up; I'll explain everything back in the waking world**_." She paused a moment, then chuckled, "_**As soon as those Hunters get their arrows away from my face**_."

Hawke didn't really understand that last bit, but out of nowhere, she felt a tugging on her chest. The faint outline of a glowing chain began to show around her and her companions. It led up to a green spell circle somewhere high above them.

Without warning, the chain wrenched her backwards.

"_Hawke_! You're awake, thank the _Maker_!"

With a ragged gasp, Hawke bolted upright. Her eyes raced around the room and her head turned round almost violently. Everything was blurry and confusing; and she couldn't remember where she was or how she'd gotten there.

"Thank the Maker…" the voice said again, and arms suddenly wrapped around her. She found her face buried in someone's shoulder as they embraced her tightly. She was pressed against soft leather that smelled of smoke and pine with the subtle tang of herbs and spices to go along with it. As her vision began to clear she could see strands of silky blond hair all around her like a veil against the world.

"Feynriel…" She murmured, feeling like she'd gotten run over by a stampeding Bronto. Her chest hurt especially badly but for the life of her she couldn't remember why. It was all so damn foggy. What she did know was that they'd gone into the fade to save Feynriel from the giving in to demons. That in mind she pulled back and looked at him.

He looked weary, and aged beyond his years. But his hazel eyes were clear and filled with unspeakable gratitude. He hugged her again, then pulled away to sit back on his legs,

"You saved me. Hawke I saw everything; if you hadn't interfered…" He glanced up at her, "I would have succumbed to the demons," he put a gloved hand to his head, "I can't believe I was so stupid!"

Hawke still tried to slow her spinning vision, but regardless laid her hand on his shoulder, "We all have our demons to overcome, kid. Don't worry about it," She grinned at him, "I'm just glad you're safe." He looked like he might start crying.

But before he could, Keeper Marethari threw open the tent flap and looked down at Hawke with grave eyes,

"Your companions woke up some time ago, they are outside. Along with a newcomer. She says she knows you- but we are unsure."

Hawke's brows furrowed and Feynriel helped her stand, "What did she say her name was?" Had Aveline..or Merrill, maybe even Isabela, followed them all the way here? After the maze that Hunter led them through to get to the secluded camp Hawke highly doubted it. In hindsight it probably wasn't Merrill, the Keeper would have used her name. Doubted it was Aveline because the woman had been with Hawke when she went to return the witches amulet during that first year. But why would Isabela follow them all the way out here when it was barely mid-morning and the pirate seldom rose before noon?

"She didn't. Only that she was here to speak with you."

Hawke's brows furrowed, but with an arm slung around the young mage's shoulders- and leaning quite heavily on the poor lad, though he seemed perfectly able to take it despite being trapped in nightmare for days on end- she slowly made her way out of the tent.

The sight she was met with was a rather tense and conflicting one.

Every Hunter not watching the perimeter had their arrows trained on someone standing in the very middle of camp. They bristled like cats just woken from a particularly comfortable nap in the sun, all bared teeth and narrowed eyes just _oozing_ hostility. Meanwhile Anders and Fenris were among them- both their weapons drawn as well. In fact, Fenris had his sword right up to the woman's neck.

Oh, that rang a bell.

"You…you **bastard**!" Hawke hadn't meant to screech like that, but it certainly got the elf's attention. She stumbled up to him with Feynriel's help, and smacked him good and hard across his double crossing face. Granted he probably let her, seeing as his quick reflexes would no doubt have allowed him to avoid the blow. That theory was only augmented by the overwhelming shame that filled Fenris's expression. He refused to meet her eyes and actually dropped his sword when he went down on a knee in front of her.

"Hawke-…Marian," He bit his lip and chanced a glance up at her.

"Uh, I think we have more _important_-" Anders began, motioning to their guest; still surrounded by angry elves at arrowpoint.

"No. Let him continue." Hawke snarled, leaning against Feynriel as Fenris swallowed audibly. Anders huffed an exasperated sigh, along with something that sounded like "_oh just get a room already..."_

"Marian…I…words cannot express how sorry I am." The elf's voice was even more gravelly than usual, and she could see wetness in his eyes as they stared at the ground in horror, "To be taken over so easily by that spirit…and have to watch what it made me do to you. I- there is no way I will ever be able to make it up to you. Words cannot express how ashamed I am, I will understand if you don't wish me to-"

"So it was controlling you? As in; it made you do all those things?" Hawke cut in, her steely demeanor faltering just a bit.

Fenris did a double take up at her, and stammered as he began to stand with a glimmer of hope in his eyes, "Yes! I fought so hard, Marian. I tried to get out of its thrall but the damndable magic was too strong," his sorrow was nearly tangible; Fenris never made excuses for anything, his time in Seheron made sure of that. But in this he seemed to be truly desperate. His features crumpled once more, "I admit it was likely my own short comings that led to such an easy possession for it but…" he swallowed and whetted his lips as emotion seeped into his voice, "Marian…you are the closest thing to family I have. And I would never _ever_ deliberately hurt you. You must know this."

Hawke stared at him for a moment longer, and the camp was shrouded in a tense silence. She eyed him as he stood bare and full of self loathing before her, and just couldn't find it in her heart to be angry at him. Hurt- yes she could still be hurt, but the almighty bitch fit he was about to receive died on her lips. With a sigh, her shoulders sagged and she leaned heavily against Feynriel.

"We will continue this conversation later. For now suffice to say that I won't be throttling you all the way back to the fade."

"I don't think you could in your condit-" Feynriel began,

"Shut _up_, Feynriel. And walk me over to our guest; they've been ever so patient to sit through our little drama."

Fenris picked up his blade once more and stood protectively by Hawke's side as she and the mage parted the crowd of Hunters.

When they stood in the middle of camp, a flash of recognition swept over Hawke's features. Anders and Fenris looked at her in confusion as she gaped in mute astonishment.

The woman grinned from her seven foot vantage point, showcasing her sharpened teeth.

"Hello, kadan. It's a pleasure to see you again."

* * *

**You guys have no idea how excited I am to formally introduce you to this fine lady. Oh goodness, she is my favorite OC in all the world~  
**

**Mainly because I am a sucker for anything Qunari related- been considering starting up a fic revolving around the Sten we encounter in DA:O, but it's still just an idea...**


	16. The Blushing Groom to Be

**AN: Well. Here we go. **

**Let me know what you think of this new development! I'm excited about it because of all the sneaky little plots I've got planned muahahaha- but I'd like to know other opinions as well!**

**Enjoy,**

**-Ms.P**

* * *

"…Oh I assure you, Narri," Leandra glanced up from brushing Hugo's unruly hair, "It's _quite_ serious. I expect a proposal as soon as he returns." She smiled with a self-satisfied twinkle in her eye. Hugo grumbled and tried to get up but her hands kept him firmly in place. The little boy had such wonderful hair- so very fine, wound up into gorgeous ringlets that sprung from his head in every direction- unlike any of her children's. Ah, but Leandra had waited for this for so long; grandchildren! Taking care of Hugo made her feel ten years younger, and helped to bring back the good days when Garret and Marian would sit before her in the same nightly ritual. Those were the only two of her children that inherited the fine, straight Amell locks. They were a joy to wash and keep- unlike poor Bethany and Carver who were stuck with Malcolm's thick and unruly shrub like hair. But Maker bless her; Leandra still tried her very best to keep them in check. Though now Bethany had that horrible bleached, hacked off, _horror_ on top of her head.

"I had no idea…" The blonde woman said, idly stroking her toddlers head's while they slept peacefully in her lap, "They seem quite cordial towards one another- and his interest in Hugo cannot be ignored- but is there any real love between them?"

"Of course! The man worships the ground Marian walks on. He even went down into the deep roads with her on that abominable expedition."

Narri thought it best not to mention that the 'abominable' expedition had given them the coin and status to be living as comfortably as the Hawke family was, and let Leandra have her way. The woman _meant_ well, that was certain.

"Sebastian is a fine man indeed," she began, "but there is a certain…" Narri sighed and pursed her lips. She looked up at Carver and Donnic chopping firewood for the night. The two were arguing about which way was best to position the logs on the chopping stump; Narri assumed Aveline would be marching over to take the axe out of their hands and do it herself, soon enough, "_distance_, about him. He seems to be holding back. Holding back what, I cannot say for sure but," Leandra was watching her intently and she hesitantly continued, "You know of his past, do you not? A disgraced and exiled Prince. A chantry Brother? How can you expect him to propose with all of that…baggage?"

To her credit, Leandra did not look uncertain for even a moment, "He's obviously given up his life as a Brother. You certainly don't see very many priests in the street taking down thugs with their bare hands, now do you? And as for the exiled bit; I assure you with all the finery he sends to Marian and Hugo, the man hasn't been cut off from the Royal treasury." She nodded to herself and ran the brush through a particularly stubborn knot in Hugo's hair, "He will make a fine husband. And a wonderful father."

Hugo's ears perked up at that, "…Sebastian?" He looked up at his Grandmother, "Mama won't tell me anything about father…is it Sebastian?" Leandra couldn't even open her mouth to cover her mistake before a smile as bright as the sun lit the boy's features; he'd always been such a rash little thing. No _idea_ where he'd gotten it from.

"I knew it!" Hugo jumped up from her lap and leapt into the air with his hands splayed, "I knew it, _I knew it_!" Carver and Donnic both stopped what they were doing to look over. Even Gamlen looked up from his book at Hugo's happy crowing.

"H-Hugo dear, you don't unders-"

"Gran, it all makes sense!" the boy grinned at her as if it was the most simple thing in the world, "My hair, it's the same color, and my eyes! And Sebastian is always there, all the time! He takes me riding and tells me stories, and you said he loves Mama!" He threw his hands up into the air, "He is Papa!"

Narri felt her heart break for the boy, and she saw Leandra's face crumple from its usual serene countenance. What an unbelievable mistake they'd made. Hugo was so happy, how could any of them tell him differently? His father had been kept a secret from him all his life, and until just recently he didn't seem to mind. But everyone could see the look in the lad's eyes when Carver would plop Chadwick and Rufus on his shoulders to parade them around. When Donnic would cradle Joan in his arms and sing her a lullaby. The boy felt left in the dark- and alone. But then Sebastian would come riding into his life on that dappled mare of his, sling Hugo into the saddle and take him up into the mountains for the day. They'd sit in the library and read together, go out to the market and explore Kirkwall together. Sebastian was strong, and noble, and polite, and everything Hugo wanted to be. The boy idolized him like a God.

And now he was completely sure the man was his father. Leandra's chest constricted at the thought she'd have to tell him differently. Though at the sound of someone crashing through the underbrush; it seemed it wouldn't be her truth to tell.

"What's all this shouting about, hmm? I wasn't gone _that_ long." The melodious sound of Marian Hawke's voice drifted into camp from the forest path. Everyone's heads whipped around to see her, Anders, Fenris, and an alarmingly tall hooded figure just behind them walking back into the spring's clearing.

"Mama!" Hugo screeched. The boy scrambled over to her and launched himself up into her arms. Hawke was surprised, but she laughed and twirled him around any way. Leandra noticed that Fenris made no move towards the boy as he usually might, splitting off from the group instead to shuffle over to his tent.

"Mama, why didn't you tell me?" Hugo gasped, once Hawke stopped spinning. She raised her eyebrows and set him on her hip with one arm tucked around him to keep him there,

"Tell you what, love?"

Leandra began to get up, her mouth opening to say something, but Narri reached out and held her back. Curiosity and apprehension warred in the woman's golden eyes. She wondered what Hawke would do about this situation.

"That Sebastian was Papa! All along!" Hugo laughed, not entirely sure what to do with his little hands as they moved all about his face and hair.

There was silence throughout the camp. Isabela, Merrill, and Bethany had come to shore from swimming in the spring, and Varric poked his head up from the bundle of parchment he'd been scribbling away on all morning. The pipe seemed just about to fall from between the dwarf's lips.

Hawke was stunned. She stared at Hugo with an owlish gaze; this was certainly the last thing she expected to come out of his mouth this morning. Hugo meanwhile didn't seem to notice her shock, he just kept giggling to himself and writhing all about in her grip.

Hawke's eyes snapped up to Leandra and there was a moment when they were filled with a biting fury. Countless sleepless nights, and her recent escapade in the Beyond had left her tolerance for difficult situations frighteningly low. And this whole mess just screamed 'Leandra'. With a trembling breath sucked in between clenched teeth, Hawke began to make her way into camp. No one commented on the large stranger behind her, but Carver and Donnic's eyes did not leave it as they made their way towards Hawke's tent. After a moment, Anders scuttled to his own bed roll, eager to be away from such a tense atmosphere.

Hawke and the stranger both sat in front of her tent, and oddly enough the giant began rummaging around in a crate nearby for tea. They pulled out the little packets of herbs like they'd always known their location, and began to set up a small fire pit to warm the kettle nearby.

Meanwhile Hawke sank into a cross legged position with Hugo settled into her lap. She let out a long sigh and ran a hand through his hair, finally able to respond,

"And how did you figure this out, my clever little boy?"

Hugo grinned and clapped his hands together, telling Hawke all about Leandra and Narri's conversation. About how she and Sebastian were going to get married and how he looked like his Papa. It all made so much sense, and it was wonderful.

The rogue was silent through the telling, aware that many eyes were still on them. Though most besides Varric and Leandra at least _tried_ to look like they weren't listening. Carver and Donnic kept casting wary glances at the cloaked stranger cordially preparing tea, but went about their wood chopping regardless.

After Hugo had finished, it finally occurred to him that his mother was not smiling, and that she was not agreeing with him. In fact, she was very quiet and still as if a big scary monster had suddenly come up before her. Hugo's little brows furrowed and his hands went to her shoulders, shaking her gently,

"Mama…You never told me before," he shook her again, "why not? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Kadan, the mage collected quite an ample amount of lemon balm leaves, should I use that for your tea? Or would you prefer something else?" The stranger rumbled. The voice was deep and smooth, warm like a summer's day.

"Yes, thank you Kata. You're too kind." Hawke murmured, her eyes not leaving those of her son's. The stranger nodded and stood to move over to Anders' tent with graceful strides. It was a moment more before the woman could speak,

"Hugo," Hawke began, "you'd like it if Sebastian were your Papa?"

Hugo nodded vigorously, his eyes still holding a slight amount of hope mired in all that confusion.

She was quiet for a moment more, thoughts raging around in her head with the force of a tornado. Her eyes searched Hugo's face and soon her mouth set in a tight line, having made her decision,

"That's good. You are such a smart little boy, my love." Finally her features relaxed and she nuzzled her nose against his, "When he gets back we will tell him he doesn't have to hide it any more. He will be so happy to call you his son, sweet heart."

The sound of jaws dropping across camp was nearly audible, and Leandra could be heard sputtering and tripping over herself as she made to correct her daughter.

"Oh, goodness. I had no idea. Why wasn't I told? Oh, I suppose it was a secret. Wasn't it? How odd, but appropriate. It makes sense. I suppose." Merrill said from across camp, holding her chin with one of her delicate little hands.

Isabela watched Hawke with narrowed golden eyes, she knew there would be explaining to do. Hawke just had to figure out how to explain it to Sebastian first.

"Here is your tea, Kadan." The stranger handed the small cup to Hawke with surprisingly gentle clawed fingers. She handed another to Leandra who had recently seated herself near her daughter and began a furious whispered conversation while Hugo went off to play with the women in the Spring.

"…and who is this? You go out to collect herbs, take hours, and come back with…this?" Leandra gasped under her breath, taking the offered cup and setting it aside, "there is much you must explain to me, Marian!" her blue eyes sparked with an intense fire. There would be no getting out of this.

"A friend of mine. I met her along the wounded coast a few years back." Hawke lied smoothly, taking a sip of the pungent Lemon Balm tea, "We met her out in the woods on her way back into the city, after her stay in Nevarra. Figured she'd have an easier time of it traveling with us when we go back tomorrow evening."

"Does she have a name? Or a face for that matter?" Leandra grated out, doing her best to remain polite under the trying circumstances.

"Kata, my Lady." The deep voice spoke again from under the hood and Leandra turned to the seated giant, "I kept my appearance hidden because I did not want to frighten any one upon entering the camp. I thought it best to wait until I was explained." The clawed hands reached up and slowly brought the thick woolen hood down over her head. Two slim black horns arched back gracefully from her forehead, and white braided hair spilled down her shoulders and disappeared down the rest of the cloak. Her eyes were a piercing gold, with flecks of green and brown within, and her deep purple lips parted in a sharp toothed smile,

"It is a pleasure to formally meet you, Lady Leandra Amell. Your daughter has told me much about your family," there was an odd look passed between Kata and Hawke, "I feel as if I know you already." Hawke resisted the urge to snort; yes of course she did. The damn woman had been living in Hawke's shadow for Maker knew how long.

"A _Qunari_!" Leandra couldn't stop the exclamation from leaving her lips, and instantly covered her mouth after it. Carver and Donnic were already making their way over before Leandra held a hand up to stop them, she apologized quickly, "Oh my goodness I am _so_ sorry, it's just that… those of your kind I've come into contact with thus far have been, well, less than friendly."

Kata gave her a wry smile and held up her hands in placation, "No offense is taken, my Lady. Though I must correct you in that I am not a Qunari." Kata frowned, "Qunari are those who follow the Qun, and all the damn rules that go with it. If you wish to classify me by race; I am a Kossith, a Vashoth who has forsaken the Qun and chosen to find her own path."

Leandra struggled for words as all these foreign concepts flew right over her head, "I- ah.."

The Kossith gave her another smile and poured a cup of tea for herself, "It's fine, my Lady." The lies began to fabricate so seamlessly that Hawke could almost swear Kata told the truth, had Hawke not already been informed of it herself, "Two years ago I was traveling with a band of Tal'Vashoth along the wounded coast, as we'd been based in Nevarra and ready to travel to Kirkwall. The Arishok was rumored to be staying in the city, and the group I was with leaned more towards the antagonistic side of the spectrum; they wanted to find the Arishok while he was not surrounded by a battalion of dreadnaughts and end him. I wanted no such thing; only travelling with them to find passage to Ferelden and hopefully begin a new life there.

"Unfortunately, word of my unwillingness to fight began to circulate through the troupe, and I was found to be unworthy. The leader, who called himself 'Evakas' did not approve. He sent several of his men to kill me while I slept. When I woke I was quite close to death indeed; lying on the warm sand of the wounded coast and watching the buzzards circle from a puddle of my own blood.

"That is when Hawke appeared. She was in the company of the mage Anders, and had him heal me," Kata gave Hawke an impressively realistic, grateful smile; even though the Kossith was the one who'd done the saving just a few hours ago in the fade, "without even knowing who I was, or what I was capable of, your daughter allowed me to stay in Hightown with the elf Fenris for several weeks to recover. I learned much about your family, and this city. I will never be able to fully repay her." Kata bowed her horned head slightly, her lips giving a sarcastic twist when Leandra couldn't see them.

"Why come back now, though?" Hawke's mother said quietly, completely buying every bit of the story, "If this Evekas is still in the city, why return?"

This part would be interesting to hear, Hawke was quite curious as well.

All humor faded from Kata's golden eyes, and she looked between the two women with the utmost seriousness,

"Because something big is going to be happening. The Arishok has been here far too long for the Qun to excuse his absence from the triumvirate. Action will be taken, and soon. None of it will be good and my blood debt to Hawke obligated me to return and protect her as best I am able," a sudden smile lit her features, "so I will be staying in Kirkwall until the danger passes along with a few of my brethren who are already in the city."

"Others?" Hawke piped up, this there had been no mention of. This all hit too close to home with what Sebastian's letter had told her of the Arishok. She could only assume what Anders told her of this Netsi meant that the _Master_ Kata had been talking about could have any number of servants just lying in wait.

"Yes. Brunnan, Windra, Netsi, and my Master." Hawke internally cursed, still no name for this mysterious man.

"Oh, I take it they are already set up somewhere in the city then?" Leandra questioned.

"Yes. We have a modest dwelling on the edge of Hightown. Suitably close to keep an eye on you Hawkes."

"And the rest of your group…they are just going along with this blood debt thing?" Hawke muttered, knowing that Kata couldn't possibly make stories up for all of them to somehow owe Hawke as well.

"They are." She said simply, taking a sip of her tea. The rogue had to work not to frown; she wasn't getting much information out of this demon…kossith…thing, at all. Probably the same spell Anders told her kept the Netsi Imp quiet as well. She didn't like it. She didn't like letting this powerful woman who could remain awake while her mind was in the fade get so close to her family. And she especially didn't like that the imposing horned giant left no room to wiggle out from under her oppressive gaze. Hawke could only wonder who these others were, and how soon she'd be getting some real answers.

It was about that time that Leandra remembered her original argument,

"Well that's one problem down, Marian. But we still have the matter of Hugo's assumed parentage!" Leandra rounded on her daughter, "Why in the world did you let him go on thinking Sebastian was his father? Are you _mad_?"

"You're the one that put the idea in his head to start with! Hugo is a smart boy and you should have known he'd be listening to your conversation," Hawke hissed. Quickly she composed herself, "Plus; I've decided to ask Sebastian to marry me. So it'll all work out."

Leandra nearly spit out her tea.

"_M….Marry you_?!" She screeched, turning the heads in camp once more. By now Varric was practically on top of them with how close he was listening in. Isabela had slunk over as well, though she was doing a much better job of hiding in the shadows.

"Yes. When he gets back, I'm going to ask him for his hand in marriage." Hawke said calmly, sipping her tea. Kata cracked a smile, but made no other move to show she'd even been listening to the conversation as she began to grind up more of the Lemon Balm leaves.

"Marian that is ridiculous! You can't just ask for a man's…that's not how it works!" Leandra gasped, the picture of exasperation. Hawke could almost see what little color she had left in her hair leeching away to grey.

"And why not? I've got money and status, wit and charm, any exile and ex-priest would jump at the chance to worm into my household. I'm rather smitten with him, to boot." She mused, watching the dark liquid swirl around in her cup.

"_Marian_." Leandra went from pale to red, "That's not. How. It. Works. Do you want to be the laughing stock of every salon ever held in Kirkwall for the rest of your life? You have to wait for _him_ to ask _you_!"

"Oh, because I've made such a deal out of the importance of stuffy old women's opinions."

"It will ruin our family name!"

"Mother, it's pretty far gone already; let's face the facts here."

"And what if he says no?"

"He won't, I assure you."

"You don't know that!"

"I do." Hawke smiled with a confidence she didn't feel while her mother began a rant to end the ages. In truth, Hawke had not one shred of confidence that Sebastian would agree to marry her. In fact; she supposed the prince would laugh at her all the way out the door and never come back. But she had to try. Hugo was desperate for a father, and pulling the most treasured man in his life away from him now would shatter his heart, and his confidence in his mother. If anyone was going to be Hawke's husband, and Hugo's father, she'd want it to be Sebastian. And it would have to be asked before the royal began his campaign to retake Starkhaven's throne. Politics be damned even if Hawke could just have him agree to claim the boy as his son it would be alright. She certainly didn't want to be Queen or anything silly like that; but it wasn't unheard of for Kings to have royal bastards floating around. Hell, there was one sitting on the Ferelden throne.

A little voice in the back of her head whispered, _"You love him Marian…politics be damned is right, you love him and want to be his wife."_ She quickly silenced it, and pretended to listen to her mother, nodding and looking sufficiently cowed when the cues presented themselves.

She didn't have time for love and rejection, but she did have time for her son and she certainly had the time to make sure he'd have that hole in his life filled up to the very brim. She'd rather he have daddy issues, than no daddy at all.

* * *

**Hmm, you know for all Sebastian has been talked about so far; we certainly haven't seen very much of him...maybe that'll change next chapter ;)**


	17. The Blushing Bride to Be

**AN: And here is the companion piece for last chapter. It will be a little while yet before these two awkward little doves get to chat, so here's a peek into what Sebastian is thinking at around the same time as Marian. Sheesh, must be something in the air. **

**I assure you this fic isn't going to derail into mushy super romantic territory, but these two chapters are quite important to move things along towards the endgame. So you'll just _have_ to suffer through it.**

**Enjoy!**

**-Ms.P**

* * *

It was about midday when he decided.

The sun was high up in the sky and the clouds mere wisps peering in on the peripheral. The late Solace winds were hot, but just strong enough to blow the oppressive rays away for a moment and provide some sort of relief. Ostwick was certainly different from Starkhaven in that regard; with nearly a year spent in his ancestral home Sebastian had gotten spoiled on the cloudy, temperate weather of the moors. Despite having to constantly hide in the shadows and stay clear of the grand city centers; the gem of the Minanter River lived up to its name. Of course the crowded and dirty coastal city of Ostwick was much different. Even though autumn was fast approaching, the city still clung to the vestiges of summer with this ridiculous heat. The locals insisted that the Maker liked to torment them. One day it was hot and fine, then out like a candle the next; winter arriving. There was a constant salty wind that one would expect he'd be used to after years in Kirkwall. But the City of Chains was elevated from the water and surrounded by imposing cliffs that kept that sort of thing in Darktown. Ostwick however was settled just next to the Waking Sea, and its dual stone fortress walls did little to block the maritime onslaught.

Sweat beaded on his forehead and gathered at the back of his neck to soak into the fur of his hood under the summer sky. A gloved hand would wipe at it sometimes, but for the most part he let it drip as his mind was elsewhere. Away from the crowded market, and the people packed in pushing up against one another to get to the merchant's stalls. He stood alone with far too much clothing for the amount of heat around him, to hide his identity from searching eyes. His trusted white armor was long gone in favor of padded leather wrapped in layers of winding cloth. He looked like he belonged out in the desert, not in a crowded market place. All that showed was his eyes and a small strip of tan skin around them so as not to be recognized. Not that it mattered much anymore. The Flint Company was gone, and now he knew who hired them.

Sebastian gritted his teeth behind the cloth covering his face, he still couldn't believe it. The Harrimans had betrayed not only the Vael family- their friends- but the entire principality of Starkhaven with their heinous crimes. How convenient that they were native to Kirkwall and would likely still be there when he returned, plotting how best to manipulate the puppet- Goran Vael- they'd thrown the crown at, no doubt. Sebastian didn't really know Goran; he was so distantly related that they'd only met in passing at a Satinalia feast at the palace nearly a decade ago. But from what Sebatian could tell, the man was nothing more than a simple archivist working in the great library of Lord Ralston somewhere in the very south reaches of the Starkhaven territories. The Vael blood barely managed to trickle through his veins. Either Goran was much more than he seemed to be past the thin, bookish features; or the Harrimans were threatening him with something to do their bidding. Sebastian would bet it was nothing less than the poor man's life. Thankfully it seemed none of the nobles had deigned to recognize his claim just yet, and were warring amongst themselves with a fierceness to rival the days of King Ironfist. The warlords were mustering their houses and meeting in the great hall weekly to select a successor; but it almost always ended in shouting matches and brawls. From what Sebastian had heard of Dwarven politics; he was sure the likeness was uncanny.

It was likely that the Harrimans planned to marry their youngest, Flora, off to the 'Prince' to solidify his claim with coin. Sebastian had to stop that from happening.

He'd go back to Kirkwall and hunt them down, bring them before the Viscount and the Lords of Starkhaven with his evidence and justice would be served. With the state Starkhaven was in, Sebastian's bid for the throne would be almost as outrageous as Goran's. Once the murderers were dealt with, it would have to be a subtle and long winded whisper campaign from the safety of Kirkwall. He'd have to gather support his Father and Grandfather had won with years of just rule and prosperous economy with nothing more than a blood claim and no small amount of coin. Once enough of the nobility was on his side, he could begin the serious campaign for the throne; leaving for Starkhaven and traveling to each of the holdings to negotiate with their Lord's. With enough backing, Sebastian would march on Starkhaven city itself, leading nothing less than an army through her golden streets and straight up to the castle gates.

That is how he would retake his throne, Starkhaven deserved nothing less than a true Prince of Vael blood to rule her. And that is what she would get.

So with his plan already in motion, and his eyes set on the prize, why did he feel so reluctant to carry it out? There was something in the back of his mind, a nagging sensation much akin to an itch he could not scratch. Sebastian found he'd been rooted to a spot in the busy market place. And staring quite intently at a little golden ring, twinkling under the shade of a merchant's stall.

Sebastian had been passing the stall in the market with his guard captain, Ser Sean MacClahan, when it had caught his attention. He had no idea why; it was just a ring, a little gold band with a tiny ruby settled into the very center. It was by no means the flashiest or most expensive piece in the Antivan merchant's stall, but it stood out all the same.

Unbidden, it gave rise to the image of the perfect little thing wrapped around the slim, pale finger of Marian Hawke. The thought came out of nowhere, and caused the prince to blink several times in surprise.

"You go on ahead, Sean. I need a moment." Sebastian murmured, his eyes still fixed on the ring sitting enticingly in its bed of velvet. The captain nodded, knowing by now not to question the decisions of his lord, and spurred his horse forward through the crowd. The black charger trotted a ways till he backed into a side alley, a good vantage point to set up the royal guard in a solid perimeter around their Prince.

"Ah _Buongiorno_, my masked friend!" The plump woman said with a smile. Her skin was a deep golden tan and her hair fell in tight black curls around her shoulders from underneath a red silk bandana, she leaned over the counter with her ample breasts pressed together enticingly, though Sebastian failed to notice them as his eyes were still trained on the jewelry, and his mind began racing at a frightening pace. The thoughts were forming, and the images playing out before his mind's eye. Something he had pictured plenty of times as an idle fancy; but now seemed so entirely real that it was impossible to ignore.

"I see you've been eying that lovely little piece for quite some time now. Allow me to assure you that it is genuine Antivan ruby, with prime clarity, cut, and carat weight. A perfect deep and excellent red, with a fine cutting rate to boot." She gave him a gold toothed grin, "The trading authority of Antiva gave it her very own seal of approval, I have the papers right here-"

"How much?" He cut in, his eyes flicking up to her soft green ones. The woman ceased her digging about in a chest full of parchment behind the counter and glanced down at the ring and back up to him.

"Five sovereigns."

"I'll give you three."

"I won't go lower than five."

"Three sovereigns, and sixty silver." Sebastian said, his eyes were filled with a calm he did not feel.

The woman pursed her generous lips and glanced down at the ring again, "Four. I won't go further than that."

Sebastian nodded and slipped the gold pieces out of a sleeve, earning a look of surprise from the woman. He would have been willing to pay the full price- but only those used to the clink of coin agreed to steep prices easily; it would do nothing for his careful cover if he blew it over a piece of jewelry. Storing the money in his sleeve was also a sign of street savvy; pickpockets couldn't get to it as easily that way. That earned him an approving grin from the Antivan.

"Would you like the papers with it? I did not jest when I said they were genuine."

"That won't be necessary." Sebastian said quietly, plucking the ring up from its velvet bed and holding it up to the light while the merchant tucked his coin away in her bosom, "I don't think my intended will question its origins. And I doubt a woman as lovely as yourself would fabricate such a thing when the ring is of obvious quality." That earned him a saucy little chuckle from the merchant and she waved a hand to shoo him,

"Oh, off with you now _caro _before you scare off my other customers with that gentlemanly speech. It's rare I get buyers cut from that pretty cloth you seem to hail from." She gave him a wink and turned to call out to other passersby.

As Sebastian pocketed the ring and made to turn away, she called after him,

"That's a lucky girl, whoever she is!"

His heart beat just a little faster and he clutched the ring tightly. Sean met him at the exit of the market place, inquiring about Sebastian's purchase. The prince sighed and led the captain back towards the inn they were stationed at on the edge of town, with promises of a later explanation. They'd be leaving early the next morning, and hit the month long deadline he'd given Marian quite punctually. Even her name made his chest clench up.

Once they had the horses securely tucked away in the stables for the night, he came down to the main hall to sit before the roaring fireplace. Sean accompanied him. The men were out of armor for the first time in nearly a year- finally able to relax with the knowledge that there wouldn't be an assassin creeping in the window in the dead of night to do them in. Ser MacClahan looked much older from just this year of hunting down the mercenaries; his thin mousy hair was streaked with grey, and there were lines on his aging face that hadn't been there just a few months ago. He looked tired, and every one of his fifty seven years.

The man had accompanied Sebastian from the day he'd learned to walk and from then on his silent guardian and teacher. When the Prince of Starkhaven and his wife began to fear for their lives, and sent Sebastian away for safety, Sean accompanied him despite his lofty position in the Royal guard. The man never had a family of his own and thought of Sebastian much like a son; of course he wouldn't leave him to live a lie in Kirkwall all by himself.

"I'm going to ask Marian Hawke to marry me, when we get back." Sebastian said quietly, staring into the fire. Saying it out loud seemed to make it more final. He couldn't tell if he was giddy or ill. There was a mug of untouched ale clutched in his hands, and the ring felt like it weighed a hundred pounds on the gold chain around his neck.

The man was silent for some time, his steely grey eyes searching Sebastian's. After a moment, he took a swig of his own drink and scratched at the grey stubble on his chin,

"This is sudden."

Sebastian nodded and looked down, the ring seeming heavier by the second, "I know. I just…" He sighed and ran a hand through his hair; unable to form the words that would describe the feelings just the woman's name brought bubbling up in his chest.

"Yesterday we were discussing retaking the kingdom, intrigue, deceit, war. And today yer talking about marriage." Sean chuckled and leaned back in his chair, "Ye are a strange one laddie." They were silent for a few moments more before the old warrior glanced back at the deflating prince, "Wha brought this on?"

With a sigh, Sebastian pulled the ring and chain from around his neck, handing it across to Sean. The man looked at it for a moment, turning it over and around in his calloused hands,

"So this is what ye were staring at all that time." The man held it forward to the firelight, watching the light play off the tiny gem's surface, "Pretty little thing. Ah suppose." He handed it back to Sebastian, "Wha's it got to do with that Hawke lass?"

"I…" Sebastian swallowed, "You know, I've been holding myself back for some time with the belief that she had too much on her plate to consider anything past friendship with me." He looked down at the ring again, "But with all this thought of retaking the throne, removing Goran and getting Starkhaven back on its feet- it all just seems so lonely and harsh without someone by my side."

"Ah see how tis." Sean said with a wry smile, "Good ol' Sean don count for nothin'."

"You know what I mean." Sebastian said with a sigh, "I don't want all the warring families to throw their daughters at me with some insane bid for power that will only rip the kingdom apart even further. Marian Hawke is an outsider, one with coin and status to back any claim we might make. Plus, there is Hugo, who could further strengthen our case with my possession of an heir."

Sean's bushy eyebrows rose, "Tha lad's yers?"

Heat rushed up to Sebastian's cheeks, "No! Of course not. I met Marian when the babe turned a year old. But, I could claim him as mine to dispel any foul rumors surrounding him. Give him a father, a good place to grow up, a future." Sebastian trailed off, staring into the fire with a soft smile coloring his features, "The lad deserves nothing less. And his mother, well," Sebastian looked down at the ring once more, swearing he could see the her soft lips stretching into that beautiful smile, "I owe her my life, and my heart because I assure you she has an irrefutable claim on it."

"Tha's enough of tha kinda talk laddie." The old guard shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "Ah understand. Do what ye have to. Yer reasons are good. We can only hope the lass feels the same for all ye've been blathering on about her this whole journey."

Sebastian reached over and finally took a drink of the ale, his nerves beginning to calm. At least it wasn't a completely insane idea. Though he had no idea how Marian would feel about it. All he knew is that they would be back in Kirkwall within a week if they rode hard. He'd have to do it before he lost his nerve.

"Marian Vael…" He murmured, rubbing a calloused thumb over the smooth gold of the ring safely around his neck once more, "Hugo Vael…" The names sent a warm feeling through him and brought a smile to his lips. Sean snorted into his mug but said nothing else, leaving the Prince to his thoughts.

* * *

**Ah I know it's sudden and corny...but I kinda like it c:**


	18. It's a Downhill Slide

This was beginning to get tiresome.

Hawke flicked the blood off of her dagger and slipped the blade back into its sheath. She glanced over to see Fenris wrenching his sword out of a downed bandit's chest and wiping it clean on his tunic. Isabela and Merrill were much the same, though the pirate had already begun rooting through the pockets of the dead for any hidden treasures. Merrill was healing the fresh cut on her arm, with a few guilty glances over at Hawke. The elf had used blood magic during the battle. Not that Hawke could blame her; at least two dozen bandits came out of nowhere and ambushed them in the darkened streets. They'd talk about it later over a cup of tea and behind the safe walls of the Amell Estate, not out here in a bloody alley.

"I can't even walk home from saving the entire city without someone trying to kill me. Humph, so much for gratitude." Hawke sighed, and then coughed a bit as the barest traces of _saar-qamek_ were still swirling around in her lungs. What kind of lunatic legitimately tries to poison an entire district just to make a political statement? Hawke sneered, probably the same that would hire a nameless Lowtown thug to escort a qunari mage out of the city only to set up a martyr situation. There was no solid evidence but…call it a hunch. Marian Hawke's past had a habit of creeping back up on her. That was the problem with unfinished business. First Feynriel, now Javaris- or the supposed person trying to frame him. Aveline had tossed a letter on her writing desk some weeks back that she'd glanced at in passing. The name Emeric had stood out from the drab details. Was this coincidence or were there larger powers in play?

For three years everything had stayed relatively quiet, with a few small outbursts from the Bone Pit, and the occasional rouge Templar or Maleficarum. But suddenly everything was starting to collapse, problems that should have been solved suddenly weren't. People who should have been calm and peaceful were rebelling. The Knight Commander was beginning to crack down even harder; the past Summerday Festival was without fireworks as the paranoid woman refused to let a single mage leave their quarters for the night.

It's like Hawke went under the radar and that somehow gave everyone permission to go bat shit crazy. Hell, she couldn't even go on a stupid camping trip with her family without getting dragged into the fade, fighting her possessed best friend, finding out that she was practically drowning in blood magic and shoved under the thumb of some creep who'd been watching her with it.

When the Viscount had summoned her upon the return from Pale Blossom Spring, she should've expected the damn letter; she should have known that the Qunari wouldn't be exempt from pushing their problems off on her.

It turned out that their stocky, greedy friend Javaris had been quite naughty indeed and the Arishok simply couldn't be bothered to send out a requisition squad for the poison that could send Kirkwall up into flames. But judging by how testy the general seemed; maybe leveling the city was becoming a more attractive concept. Hawke was of a mind to agree at the moment. Bandits, carta members, and thugs at night, nobles by day; she couldn't walk through any part of Hightown without whispers following her. Whispers about her family, their rise to power, the expedition, her companions, her _son_.

So to summarize; crawling through sewers, battling mercenaries, and a crazed elf while trying not to suffocate from a poison that makes people murderous and insane, had made for a bit of a packed day. To think, Hawke had hoped not to have the need for this armor again. But here it was, all belts, buckles and padding to keep her safe from any of the nutcases roaming the streets after dark.

"Wow. You blokes really deliver, huh?" Hawke's head whipped around at the sound of a new voice. She really didn't need another actor stepping onto her stage today. But her posture relaxed just slightly when the familiar figure stepped from the alley and scratched the back of his head.

"Brunnan." Hawke said icily. The man gave a curt bow and straightened with a smile. The smile was as sincere as any glance his coal black eyes could give. The man was a snake, perpetually hunched and pale with thin hair and nails that were torn with his constant habit of picking at them. That voice of his was akin to tar dripping down a river bed.

"I thought I might have to step in there for a bit. But, Kata didn't lie when she said you were capable." He kicked a dead bandit absentmindedly and folded his hands behind his back- no doubt to begin tearing at a new nail. Hawke rounded on him and put a hand on her hip, fingers tracing little circles on the hilt of her dagger. She saw his eyes flick down to it; a smirk played on his lips though he kept them respectfully neutral.

"Where is Kata, anyway? She was on the way back to the city with us, to introduce me to your _Master_, actually. Then halfway there she just ran off. With no explanation." Hawke spoke through her teeth, "Then you and this Netsi character show up the next day and tell me that your Master isn't ready to meet us _just_ yet. What, did he have a change of heart? Because I assure you all this secrecy is getting _old_."

"Tell the blood mage that he cannot hide forever." Fenris snarled, coming to stand next to her, "Despite the assistance your companion has provided us, his intrusion on Hawke's dreams with whatever manner of spells he employed will need to be…_discussed_." The way Fenris spoke, it didn't seem like talking was anywhere near what he meant.

Brunnan held up his hands and took a few small steps back, "Whoa, whoa. Let's settle down now, no need to be so hostile." When it became apparent they were not going to drop the subject, Brunnan sighed and rubbed his head, "Ah, what a bother. Well, I can't tell you much except this; Kata had every intention of taking you to the Master, and he every intention of explaining his actions. But something came up that sapped much of the Master's strength and he needs to recover before he can meet you properly. He does not want your first impression of him to be bedridden and sickly. He's a bit conceited that way.

"But anyway! Not what I'm here for." He smiled at Hawke and spoke before she could launch any profanity at him, "I'm on "Hawke watch" tonight. Just wanted to make sure you made it out alright from that poisonous alley. Couldn't go in to help you, alas, the gas seemed to have a rather adverse effect on me. Just wanted to see if you had any serious injuries."

Hawke was very close to the end of her patience with these cryptic fools and their shrouded Master, "I'm fine. When can I meet him?"

"Ah, you're really not going to drop it, are you?"

"The nightmares have stopped, and I'm assuming that's because Anders and Fenris broke whatever foul spell he held me in," Hawke spat, "but that doesn't excuse the fact that he held me hostage by my dreams and monitored my every move for years on end."

"But the spell was simply to-" Before he could go any further, the man jerked to attention and a ripple of shock seemed to pass through his body. There was silence for a moment before he relaxed and sighed, "Ah…I need to watch my mouth, almost spilled the beans." He glared up at Hawke, his calm exterior cracking for the first time, "I'll be going now. I trust you can make it home safely. As soon as the Master is well he will send someone for you. That's all you need to know."

With that, Brunnan turned and walked back into the shadowed alley. Fenris growled and lurched after him. But came out of the alley a few moments later with a shake of his head; the tricky man was long gone with not a trace of his scent to follow him by.

Isabela and Merrill came over to join them and the pirate queen let her weight fall on one hip, crossing her arms, "I like this situation less as the days go by. That man's a bastard, Hawke. I didn't trust that 'Kata' woman as far as I could throw her, either."

"But…she saved you, didn't she? And Brunnan, he was here to protect you like they do every evening. This Master clearly has your best interests at heart," Merrill said shyly, wringing her hands, "If I'd been in the fade with you, I could've looked at the spell…"

"We aren't discussing this, Merrill." Hawke said sharply, turning away from the elf, "You know my opinion on blood magic. Let's go, we will have a fun day of speaking with the Arishok and the Viscount tomorrow. Best to do it on what little night's sleep we can manage at this point."

Merrill hung her head and followed meekly after Hawke as the woman stormed through the Lowtown streets. Isabela slipped off to the Hanged Man, no doubt to tell Varric all about the night's events. An exaggerated story about Hawke's immunity to poison and single handed defeat of a battalion of mercenaries was soon to be circulating within the week. Hawke hated those stories because while they were entertaining, they often made it up to the higher circles of Kirkwall nobility, which did nothing for her reputation. Not that she cared; but it made mingling at those awful social events her mother forced her to attend an absolute nightmare. Wasn't exactly easy to make small talk if everyone was avoiding you like the taint. But she didn't have it in her to ask Varric to stop- mainly because she doubted he would even if she begged him- but also; he was her friend, and it brought him great happiness to have a main character that he could glorify. Got his mind off Bartrand, at least. Hopefully he'd find a lead on the little weasel sooner rather than later so he'd actually be of use on missions again.

When they got to Hightown, Fenris walked them all the way up to the front door of the Amell Estate, then bade them a goodnight. Before the camping trip, Hawke would have invited him in for a drink. But she was still sore about that whole 'stabbing me right through the heart you weak willed bastard' business. She was trying to forgive him, it was just difficult. Thankfully he understood, and was being quite considerate of her boundaries. So she still let him come to reading lessons with her mother and Hugo.

"Marian! Oh Marian you won't believe it!" Speaking of which. Leandra came dashing through the entry way like a lacy tornado. She looked about to envelop her daughter in a perfumed hug, but pulled back just in time to see the lack of Marian's traditional tunic and breeches, and the return of her leather and metal spiked armor- covered in blood, and all manner of disgusting things. It was a horrible reliving of their first two years in Kirkwall and the woman had to work not to faint. She managed to weave around the two filthy girls and collapse on the nearby stone bench,

"Mother, wonderful to see you too." Hawke said with little patience for Leandra's antics at this hour after the day she'd had.

After a moment of shrieking over her daughter's condition, Leandra managed to compose herself. She shoved Merrill and Hawke towards her daughter's chambers where she'd had the intuitive foresight to have a bath waiting. While the two women were stripped out of their clothes by Orana and Bethany- the disgusting garments and armor were rushed off to the washroom - Leandra seated herself delicately on the plush little stool by Hawke's vanity.

Merrill's braids were undone and she was thrown into the boiling water along with the sulking rogue. The elf squeaked and tried to cover herself, but realized it was rather pointless. She sighed and sank down into the water and let it relax her aching muscles. Hawke did much the same, enjoying the first pleasant feeling she'd had today. Bethany and Orana got to work scrubbing out the knots in the girls' hair while Leandra supervised.

"Anyway. I was going to tell you the most exciting news!" Leandra groused, "Just this morning, I, your mother, had an outing! With a man!"

Hawke's eyes grew wide and she nearly stood up in the tub were it not for the experienced Orana shoving her back down before the water could slosh out all over the floor,

"A man? You mean to tell me you went on a…date?" The words were sour on Hawke's tongue and they made her mouth twist to the point where she could speak and simply sat there with a puckered, angry expression.

"Yes, darling! Oh isn't it wonderful to think that even at my age there still might be a man out there for me? And he is just the sweetest…" She began to go on about him, but Hawke found that she couldn't listen. Did father mean so little to her that she would simply throw her affections at the first new suitor that came along? Was that was love meant to her, was it that frivolous a subject? As her mother kept going on, Hawke tried to calm herself. Despite what her own opinion might be, this was mother's happiness, not her own. She supposed all this talk about marriage with Sebastian had gotten Leandra feeling quite lonely and it was only fair that she have a chance at her own happiness.

But that didn't mean Hawke had to like it.

Later that evening, after a long chat with Merrill about the dangers of blood magic in a populated combat situation, Hawke managed to drag her feet up the stairs to her bedroom. Vaugley she heard a muffled explosion from beneath the house. She didn't even want to think about what insane experiments Anders was putting up down there. Hawke had only been down there a handful of times, but the blast marks on the walls had plenty of company. That was one of the many perks of having a possessed apostate living in your basement, she supposed. Though Anders had been acting more strangely than normal, lately. She supposed she'd have to go down there and check on him one of these days.

Hawke bumped the door to her chambers open and padded in quietly. Hugo was already fast asleep, a little ball curled up under the covers near the mountain of pillows at the headboard. Only his mass of curls could be seen above the covers. She sighed and felt the weight on her heart lift just a tad.

Setting down her cup of tea on the bedside table, Hawke walked over to her writing desk and idly pushed the pile of letters around. There were a few new ones; mainly the note from Seneschal Bran inquiring about the progress she'd made with the Qunari. As if she was expected to smooth everything over in a single day. Ha! The man would wait till tomorrow just like everyone else. They weren't the only people in the city. The most important, yes, but not the only.

The letter that she'd been looking for surfaced, it was written in Aveline's neat, blockish script with the wax seal of the Kirkwall City Guard on it. Hawke opened it and sank into the nearby lounge chair to read it by candle light,

_Hawke,_

_That Templar, Emeric who was investigating the murders of several young women that took place three years ago is back. He has been harassing the guard and even some of Kirkwall's nobility. He is an embarrassment to the order and to the guard and I need you to go shut him up. He's been asking for you for months now and I figure if it will get him to settle down we might as well give him what he wants._

_Thanks,_

_Aveline_

Hawke smirked, Captain of the Guard, loving wife, and mother; Aveline's notes were getting more short and to the point by the day. Bless her soul. But if anyone could take all that on, it would be the ginger bulwark of a woman. Though this Emeric business was unsettling; mainly because Aveline hadn't been with Hawke those years ago when she followed the Templar's leads. The captain wasn't aware that the man was right; women were being murdered and they were connected. She'd even gotten so close as to see the murderer himself, making sure to memorize his face like it was the last thing she'd ever do. Tall, lean build with grey hair but features that were none too badly aged. Deep circles under the eyes and high cheek bones with a hooked nose. She'd remember that face; and kill the man who wore it the moment she saw him next. To leave nothing but bones after the kidnapping of poor Ninette, was monstrous. If Emeric was shouting at the higher ups again that could only mean that the murderer was back, and he'd begun killing all over again. A frightening thought.

Setting the letter aside, Hawke stood from the chair with several audible cracks. Twenty seven was a scary number to be, and she certainly wasn't as limber as she remembered being three years ago. She'd been getting a bit soft. She patted her stomach and frowned, looked like she would need to start sparring with Fenris again.

The return to the life of action was not one that Hawke welcomed. Of course there was a certain excitement in it; staying out till dawn with a swashbuckling group of companions and saving the city one person at a time. Battling bandits and demons, running and fighting, all of it would draw the attention of young glory seeking swords. But as she looked over at Hugo cuddled up in bed, Hawke could feel nothing but fatigue after today. There was no glory in leaving your son alone all day, or crawling in to bed after he was long asleep.

Hawke could only hope this business with the Qunari would be taken care of soon. Though she had a gut feeling that this was only the beginning. Sebastian's letter and Kata's warning did nothing for her sense of security in that regard.

"Mama?" Hugo's sleepy voice drifted up to her as she pulled the covers aside. She smiled down at him and stroked his hair gently,

"Shh love, go back to sleep."

He looked up at her blearily, but gave her a sleepy smile, "I was dreaming that Papa came home. He took me riding up in the mountains again…"

Hawke fought to keep her smile and she pulled her son close to her, snuggling down under the plush blankets with him, "That sounds like a wonderful dream little one."

"It was…you were there, we all had lunch together at the swimming place." He murmured into her chest, "It was nice…"

Hawke sighed and stared past him and out the window at the starry night sky, and the Viscount's keep that rose up like a looming specter. She rubbed gentle circles on Hugo's back until his breath evened out to sleep once more. Though there would be no nightmares in her dreams tonight, she doubted she would sleep. The ghostly figures of the Arishok, the Viscount, the Master, and the Murderer all loomed in her mind's eye.

That was enough nightmare material to welcome the demons of the fade with open arms.


End file.
